


Snapshots (Dearly Beloved)

by Bohemia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur isn't Hugh Grant, F/M, M/M, Merlin Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemia/pseuds/Bohemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>{REPOSTED} It was always going to be electric between them, but there's a fine line between arguing and flirting. (Or the story of how Arthur Pendragon is most decidedly not Hugh Grant.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots (Dearly Beloved)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/gifts).



> This was originally written for Merlin Holidays 2013 as a gift for Camelittle (whose brilliant prompts resulted in something much longer than originally intended!) (Camelittle - I'm sorry I didn't tag this properly when I reposted it last year!)

**I:**   _We are gathered here today_

Arthur Pendragon had never been enormously fond of surprises. He liked to know about things in advance; that way he always had time to prepare properly.

He supposed it had all started when he’d been thirteen and he’d arrived home from boarding school for his first exeat weekend. Over dinner that evening with his father (a rare occurrence in itself) there’d been the brusque and unexpected announcement that Uther Pendragon, who had lived as a widower since Arthur’s birth, was to remarry. Arthur had promptly proceeded to choke on a roast potato and his elder sister, Morgana, had been forced to intervene with her version of the Heimlich manoeuvre, which, although successful, had left Arthur with sore ribs for days.

After that incident – and the disaster that was Uther’s week-long marriage to the awful Catrina – Arthur had learned to categorise people into two distinct groups: Firstly, those who were easy to understand and unlikely to surprise him at any point; and secondly, those who were unreadable, mysterious, or at all likely to cause him consternation (and associated heartburn, migraine, and general stress). As a rule he avoided the latter group like the plague.

Gwen, thankfully, had fallen firmly into the former category from their first encounter.. She’d been accompanying her parents to one of Uther’s pre-Christmas soirees at Number 10 and had been as thrilled to be there as Arthur and Morgana. However, whereas Morgana was snippy and Arthur had been generally moody, Gwen had endured the inane chatter and flowing snobbery with more charm and grace than any fifteen-year-old had right to lay claim to.  Arthur had liked her immediately, and he was still convinced that in another life they would have been perfect for each other. In  _this_  life, however, a brief dalliance during their first term at Cambridge had been the extent of any romantic entanglement, much to the chagrin of Morgana (who wanted Gwen as a sister-in-law) and Uther (who thought that Gwen’s inherited title made her just about good enough for his son).

It was testament to their longstanding friendship that fifteen years after their first meeting they were sitting together in a small Marylebone café, warming their hands on coffee mugs a week before Gwen’s wedding to another man.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married.” Arthur grinned as Gwen ducked her head, the simple engagement ring glinting under the lights. “I still remember when you were convinced you were going to marry that slimy popstar. Whatshisname?” He snapped his fingers. “Cedric!”

“ _Cenred_.” Gwen crowed with laughter. “And  _shush_  you. I was seventeen and every girl on the planet was in love with him.”

“Well,” Arthur smirked, “Lance does have sort of a boyband look to him, I suppose. All that floppy hair!”

Gwen laughed again, throwing her head back in delight. “God, Arthur, don’t say things like that.”

Arthur’s smile softened into something far more genuine. “I’m really pleased for you. Both of you.” And he really was. Gwen lit up whenever Lance was in her presence, and the man in question did the same at the barest mention of his fiancée.

Gwen beamed as she placed her coffee down on the table. “I know you are. You know, I think it would’ve killed me a bit if you or Morgana hadn’t liked him.”

“How could anyone  _not_  like Lance?” Arthur paused as he took another bite of the cookie that they were supposed to be sharing but he seemed to be demolishing alone. “He teaches four year olds for a living, makes the best food I’ve ever had in my life, knows everything about  _everything_ , and is possibly the most polite man ever to walk the earth.” He laughed. “He’s practically a bloody knight in shining armour.”

Gwen arched one eyebrow, biting back a smile as she regarded her friend. “Are you sure  _you_  shouldn’t be marrying Lance, Arthur?”

Arthur shot his friend a wry smile. “Wouldn’t my father just  _love_  that?” He’d been kidding but the atmosphere soured immediately.

Gwen’s face dropped into contrition. “Arthur, I’m sorry. I was just joking. I didn’t mean to bring up…you know… _that_.”

 _That_  was the official codename Gwen had adopted for the travesty that was Arthur’s love life. Uther had been hounding his only son for years about finding a nice young Lady ( _note Lady with a capital ‘L’_ ) to marry and subsequently install as the wife of the country’s future PM.

It didn’t matter that Arthur hadn’t remotely liked a single girl that Uther had pushed towards him over the years. Certainly not enough to see any of them again after the horribly awkward first date that inevitably took place under the watchful gaze of socialites, the mercenary matriarchs of the upper-classes, and the tabloid press.

And it really didn’t matter that Arthur had  _zero_  intention of marrying anyone - his father’s choosing or otherwise.

Oh, and then there was the tiny, insignificant fact that Arthur hadn’t given any woman a second glance in years. He knew where his preference lay and it was safe to say that Uther hadn’t taken that little nugget of news particularly well. It was ridiculous, really - Uther had been angrier in that moment than when Morgana had casually announced that she was going to try out Socialism for a while.

“It’s alright, Gwen,” Arthur choked out eventually as the laughter of the other patrons began to grate on his nerves. “Let’s not get all maudlin about it.”

Gwen nodded, a blush rising to her cheeks still. “Sorry, yeah.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Everything sorted for Saturday then?”

Gwen took a deep breath before nodding. “I think so. You wouldn’t believe how much of a fuss some of my family are making about the fact that we’ve chosen to get married in England in December. Seriously, I’ve had at least two cousins threaten not to come because they can’t possibly imagine a wedding without sunshine.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “They sound charming.”

“Yep.” Gwen stuck her tongue out. “But at least Mum and Dad are on my side. They’ve told them not to bother coming if they don’t want to. More food for everyone else, Dad says.”

Arthur chuckled. Gwen’s father went against everything Arthur had always expected from Lords; he was kind, funny and welcomed everyone into the family home as if he’d known them for years. Not to mention he adored his daughter and was thrilled she was marrying someone she so obviously loved, regardless of the fact Lance didn’t come with a title or a big house.

“And Merlin’s been brilliant about it,” Gwen continued as Arthur tuned back in. “He even switched the date of his big job interview so he could still come to the wedding.”

“Merlin?” Arthur frowned. The name sounded familiar, he was sure of it.

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded. “Lance’s friend from uni. He was at the engagement party last year.”

Arthur’s eyes bulged as he remembered  _exactly_  who Merlin was. “The one who broke the window with the champagne cork?”

“Ah,” Gwen grimaced slightly at the memory, “yes, that one.”

“The one who informed me in no uncertain terms that he thought it was ridiculous for  _one_  serving Prime Minister to be a member of the House of Lords in the twenty-first century, not to mention how it would be a complete  _disgrace_  if I made that number rise to two?” Arthur pursed his lips.

Gwen winced. “Well you were being a bit of a…” She trailed off, biting her lip sheepishly.

“A what?” Arthur asked as calmly as he could manage.

“Well…” Gwen scrunched her face up, searching for the correct word. “A  _tit_ , I suppose.”

Arthur blinked. It had taken fifteen years, but Gwen had finally managed to stun him into temporary silence.

“Arthur?” Gwen asked cautiously.

“A tit?” Arthur repeated.

“Well,  _yes_ , Arthur.” Gwen folded her arms. “You were getting all uppity about those anti-peerage comments that had been in the papers that week. Remember?”

“Uppity?” Arthur, if he’d had coherent thought available through his surprise, would have started to worry about the fact that he couldn’t seem to do more than repeat what Gwen was saying like a marginally talented parrot. He was the supposed frontrunner for the position of PM when his father retired in a few months’ time, for Christ’s sake!

Gwen nodded. “You told Merlin he was exactly the kind of person you’d expect to have such ridiculous, overly-socialist viewpoints.”

“I did?” Arthur did  _not_  remember saying that.

“You did.” Gwen reached for her coffee again and surveyed her friend over the rim of the mug. “Something to do with him being a grammar school boy with a chip on his shoulder even though he’d gone to Oxford.”

Arthur frowned. That didn’t sound like something he’d say. Not out loud, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“Positive, actually.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “It is quite hard to miss when two of your closest friends - who you’d really hoped would get on,  _actually_  - start sniping at each other during your engagement party.”

Arthur slumped slightly in his seat; he straightened up almost immediately when he noted that a group of girls on a far table had recognised him, if the pointing and whispering were anything to go by. 

Gwen followed Arthur’s line of sight, her forehead creasing into a frown. “Oh. Oh dear. Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it. I’ve been crap enough about seeing you recently. If I’m appointed-“

“ _When_ ,” Gwen interrupted, briefly squeezing his arm. “ _When_  you’re appointed.”

Arthur shot her a grateful quirk of his lips. “Alright,  _when_  I’m appointed, I’m not going to be able to go anywhere without the whole country noticing. I can cope with a few stares.”

“If you’re sure,“ Gwen replied with a nod, but gave the girls a withering glance anyway. “Listen, Arthur, the reason I really wanted to see you today was that I have something to ask you. Well,  _Lance and I_  want to ask you.”

Arthur gestured for her to continue.

“You know we would have loved for you to be a bigger part of the wedding,” Gwen said, finally snaffling a piece of cookie. “And I know that you’ve been far too busy recently for that to have been possible. But, we’d really like you to give one of the readings at the church.”

The rush of warmth Arthur felt had nothing to do with the cafe’s heating, and everything to do with the happiness he felt to have Gwen, and now Lance, as part of his life. “Of course. Of course.”

“Really?” Gwen beamed. “I know you spend your life standing up and talking in front of people, but w-“

“Gwen.” Arthur grasped her hands between his own, giving them a slight squeeze. “I’d be honoured.”

“Thank you.” Gwen’s smile only grew as she threw her arms around his neck and drew him close.

“Don’t thank me,” Arthur replied quietly. “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”

Gwen tensed slightly. “That’s good to know,” she said softly. “Because I have another favour to ask.”

 

 

 

**oOo**

Arthur had known he should have just sent his driver. He’d known it with a deep sense of certainty that hadn’t budged since he’d left his office in Westminster. He also knew, however, that he’d promised Gwen that he would  _personally_  ensure that Merlin made it from Heathrow to the room she’d reserved for him at The Dorchester.

So there he was, sitting in the back of his car and getting twitchier by the second. The only reason the car hadn’t been banished from where it was illegally parked near the arrivals door was the rather useful security clearance that Arthur had been granted due to his father’s job. However, that didn’t stop the various police officers who kept walking past every few minutes from giving the ever-patient Geoffrey a pointed look where he sat behind the wheel.

 _Yes_ , Arthur wanted to yell at them,  _I know we shouldn’t still be sitting here_!

“Forty-five minutes,” Arthur hissed, shaking his head. “His plane landed  _forty-five minutes_  ago. It shouldn’t take that long for someone to get through security and pick up a bag.”

Geoffrey, who was always diplomatic, remained silent and turned up the heat in the car. Thankfully the promised snow had held off so far, but the chill in the air was particularly harsh, even for mid-December.

Arthur scanned the passengers leaving the terminal. Groups - families probably - clutching suitcases and brightly wrapped packages were spilling from the doors in a steady stream. The occasional lone passengers that sauntered out of the building generally disappeared almost immediately in a flurry of limbs as they were pounced on by waiting men and women. Christmas cheer was definitely in the air; although it seemed to be doing its damnedest to stay out of Arthur’s Jaguar.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur threw his hands up. “I’m going to ring Gwen and tell her that he’s not arrived. I mean how can-“

A knock on the window had Arthur jumping backwards in surprise. He looked up to see a figure who appeared to be wrapped head to toe in various shades of striped wool.

Geoffrey, consummate professional that he was, exited the car immediately, closing the driver’s door behind him with a firm push.

“Mr Emyrs?” Arthur heard Geoffrey ask the wooly mammoth on the other side of the glass.

The knitted creature obviously gave a positive response because the next moment saw Geoffrey wrestling two suitcases into the boot before the back passenger door furthest from Arthur was opened and the man climbed in.

“Hi,” the man said cheerfully as he unwrapped the hideous scarf from around his face and began pulling off his gloves. “Thanks for picking me up. Gwen said…” He trailed off and Arthur watched as realisation dawned slowly. “ _You!_ ”

Arthur rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. “Ah, Merlin, how lovely it is to see you again.” He trailed his eyes slowly over Merlin’s face, the features becoming recognisable as he parsed the image before him with his memory of Gwen’s party.

“Right, I’m getting a taxi.” Merlin was already wrapping his scarf back up as he spoke. “Gwen just said a friend of hers was picking me up. If I’d known it was you I wouldn’t have agreed to the lift.”

Merlin opened the passenger door just as Geoffrey climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“Have you forgotten something, Mr Emrys?” Geoffrey asked, frowning in the rearview mirror.

“Er, no,” Merlin mumbled. “Sorry, I just think I’ll go and find a taxi instead. Or a train, maybe. You can get a train from here, can’t you?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Mr Emrys,” Geoffrey replied. “Her Ladyship did request that I take you straight to The Dorchester, after all.”

“But-“ Merlin began to protest.

Arthur held up one gloved hand. “Look, I have plenty of work I can be getting on with, and I’m sure you could use the time to come up with more witty rejoinders about the state of politics in this country, so why don’t we just ignore each other and let Geoffrey drive us back to London?”

Merlin looked decidedly put-upon. “Fine,” he huffed eventually, blue eyes flashing dangerously as he closed the door,“but only because I want to see Lance and Gwen properly before the wedding tomorrow.”

Arthur didn’t reply. Instead, he took his phone out of his coat pocket and started carefully reading the emails that had been streaming in as he’d been sitting outside Heathrow’s terminal three; forty-one in under an hour, and  _all_  of them required a response. If Arthur  _did_ take over from his father he’d be the youngest Prime Minister in over two-hundred years. He couldn’t afford to put a single foot wrong, not when the opposition was doing everything in its power to make him look like a poor choice.

As the car pulled away from the kerb, Arthur noted that Merlin was staring at him silently. Arthur kept his gaze firmly on his emails and did  _not_  dwell on the fact that he may have just been a bit of a tit again. He sighed. Gwen was going to kill him.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

“That scowl goes beautifully with your tie.”

Arthur looked up from where he was rolling the Order of Service between his hands to see his sister smirking at him. “Morgana.”

“What?” Morgana’s grinned widened. “No compliments about my dress?”

Arthur rolled his eyes as Morgana carefully lowered herself onto the step beside her brother. “Of course. Your dress is the best dress I’ve ever seen,” he drawled. “You’re a vision in navy. No other maid of honour will ever be able to live up to the standard you’ve set here today. Long may girls clamour and cry about your astounding beauty and-”

“Alright. Enough.” Morgana slapped him lightly on the arm. “No need to get snippy. What’s wrong with you?” She frowned before her eyes widened a moment later. “Oh my God, Arthur, you’re not in love with Gwen, are you?” She then somehow managed to look even more incredulous.  “Or Lance!”

“Morgana!” Arthur hissed. “Jesus, keep your voice down, You’re a bloody shrill harpy, did you know that? And  _no_ , of course I’m not in love with Gwen,  _or_ Lance.”

Morgana wrinkled her nose, ignoring Arthur’s insult. “Well, what’s wrong then? You usually only look so pissed off when you’re in Uther’s presence; and he’s not here, so what’s with the face of thunder?”

Arthur didn’t reply verbally. He stared through the large french doors and watched as Gwen and Lance posed for some photographs in the perfectly snowy grounds of the hotel. Merlin was rushing about, holding Gwen’s coat between pictures, and generally being helpful by the looks of things.

“Oh.” Morgana said slowly, pursing her lips. “So you rather fancy the pants of a certain Best Man, do you?”

“What?” Arthur shrieked.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Now who’s the shrill harpy?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Morgana,” Arthur replied, bristling.

Morgana grinned. “Oh, Arthur, you do make life difficult for yourself.” She tilted her head and looked appraisingly at Merlin in the distance. “He is rather charming though, isn’t he?”

“He bloody well isn’t!” Arthur snapped. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be outside pouting at the camera?”

“What a neat subject change.” Morgana shook her head. “I’ve already been outside. You’d have known that if you hadn’t been sending moony glances in Merlin's direction.”

“Morgana.” Arthur growled, and the warning behind it was clear.

“Oh, grow up,” Morgana replied, rising gracefully to her feet - five inch heels be damned! “Merlin’s lovely. Which is more than can be said for you.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you here for any other reason than to insult me?”

Morgana twisted her lips into a parody of a smile. “Gwen would like her best friend to be in some of the official photos.” The smile dropped. “So get your arse out into that garden, Arthur Pendragon, because if you ruin today for Gwen then  _I_ will kill you.”

Arthur stood immediately. “I wouldn’t do anything to upset Gwen today. Or ever, Morgana.” He folded his arms and glared at his sister. “You know that.”

“Then stop acting like a toddler having a hissy fit.” Morgana pointed to the french doors. “If you can’t manage that then so help me…”

Arthur didn’t doubt Morgana was serious. He nodded briefly, tugged the collar of his coat up around his neck and started to head outside.

“Oh, and Arthur?”

He turned back to see Morgana looking at him in a way that clearly stated she knew something he didn’t. “You should seriously consider being a bit less of a twat to Merlin. You’ll only regret it otherwise.”

Arthur frowned. “What?”

“Just trust me.” Morgana made a shooing motion with her hand. “Now, off you pop.”

Arthur, knowing his sister could be more enigmatic than anyone else he’d ever met and thus wasn’t going to give him anymore information past that initial tease, turned back towards the garden and squared his shoulders.

“There’s a good boy!” Morgana called, and Arthur didn’t have to turn around to see the self-satisfied smirk; he could hear it well enough in her voice.

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

“You’re really annoying, did you know that?” Merlin said, listing slightly to the left as he reclaimed his seat on the top table.

Arthur turned slowly from where he’d been watching brightly-clad couples laugh and twirl on the ballroom’s dance floor. “I beg your pardon?”

“You. Are. Really. Annoying.” Merlin punctuated each word with a point of his finger towards Arthur.

“Do you often start conversations like this?” Arthur asked, taking a sip of sparkling water. He’d learned his lesson about drinking too much at weddings, and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Merlin looked thoughtful for a moment. “No.” 

“Good job your speech was a bit more eloquent,” Arthur turned back to the dance floor. Actually, Merlin’s Best Man speech had been damn near perfect, but Arthur didn’t think he needed to be  _that_ charitable aloud.

“You were horrible to me.” Merlin continued, either choosing to ignore Arthur’s brushoff or not actually aware that Arthur was trying to avoid speaking to him. “At Lance and Gwen’s party.”

Oh great, so Merlin was a maudlin drunk, and a loud one at that, drawing stares from guests on nearby tables.  Arthur couldn’t exactly just get up and walk away without looking like a complete prick, not when he’d felt eyes following his every move all day.

“I don’t think I was alone in my poor behaviour,” Arthur replied quietly, so as not to be overheard. It wasn’t an apology, but perhaps a slight admission of guilt. “You weren’t exactly pleasant.”

“I was just telling the truth!” Merlin held up his hands, blinking rapidly as if genuinely surprised to see his fingers appear in front of his face. “You were the one who was unpleasant.”

“You insulted my father.”

“I insulted your father’s politics,” Merlin snapped back. “That’s different.”

“You insulted  _me_!”

Merlin pursed his lips. “You insulted me first.”

“How old are you? Four?” Arthur wished he’d taken Lance up on that offer of a whisky now.

“I’m twenty-nine!” Merlin replied mulishly, as though Arthur had really been wanting an answer to the question.

“It was a rhetorical question,  _Mer_ lin,” Arthur grumbled. “Do you know what that means?”

Merlin looked murderous. “You’re not the only one with a double first, Mr Pendragon.”

“And we’re back to education again.” Arthur shook his head. “Spare me.”

“Oh, just bugger off!” Merlin slumped back in his chair.

“I was here first,” Arthur replied. “So why don’t you go back to lolopping around the dance floor like a bloody great bear?”

“I was not  _lolopping_!” Merlin cried. “And I can sit here if I want to. You don’t own the table, even if you bloody well think you do!”

“Right!” Arthur stood abruptly, no longer caring about appearances. “Jesus, I’m not going to get any peace here.” He looked to his left and his eyes landed thankfully on a familiar face at the next table. “Elena!”

Elena looked up from where she’d been fiddling with the bow on her bridesmaid’s dress. She’d been pulling at the material all day as it refused to stay in place - Morgana hadn’t had the same problem, nor had Gwen’s cousin, Anna.

“Elena, would you like to dance?” Arthur asked, shooting a desperate glance in the blonde girl’s direction. “Please?”

Elena frowned, but stood up anyway. She tripped slightly over the long hem of her dress as she stepped towards Arthur, but saved herself at the last second. “You hate dancing,” she whispered in confusion as Arthur took her by the arm. “You’ve  _always_  hated dancing.”

“Yes, well, it’s the lesser of two evils right now,” Arthur replied. He twirled Elena around as gracefully as they could manage and refused to acknowledge the fact that Merlin was glaring at him. Again.

“To be honest, Arthur, I thought you’d be trying to butter Merlin up,” Elena said quietly into Arthur’s ear when the upbeat song that had been playing segued into a gentle ballad. “It’s an interesting move.  _Stupid_ , obviously, but interesting.”

“Oh my God,” Arthur sighed. “For the hundredth time today, I am  _not_ trying to sleep with Merlin.”

Elena made a face. “Well as lovely as it is to know that, darling, that isn’t what I meant.”

Arthur pulled back slightly to study his friend’s face. “Well, what  _did_  you mean? Why else would I need to butter up that annoying little upstart? He’s just one person, El, I can probably afford to lose one vote in the future, and anyway he-”

Elena’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, Christ! Arthur, you do know who Merlin is, don’t you?”

Arthur looked at her as though she might be suffering from a grievous mental affliction all of a sudden. “Yes, Elena,” he said slowly, “I think it’s quite clear I know who Merlin is.”

“No.” Elena shook her head. She bit her lip as she took a deep breath. “I mean  _who_  he is.”

Arthur fought the urge to throw his hands up in defeat. “El, can you please stop being so cryptic? You’re starting to sound like my bloody sister.”

“Arthur,” Elena said in a low voice yanking him off the dance floor and into a secluded corner, “are you aware that Merlin has been in New York for the past six years?”

Arthur shrugged. “Gwen said he was journalist, or something.”

“Ah.” Elena looked uncomfortable. “Um, Arthur, Merlin wasn’t  _just_  a journalist.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh dear, I think it’s quite possible you’ve done something rather silly.”

The sinking feeling that developed in Arthur’s stomach was anything but pleasant. “What, El? What have I done?”

Elena was demonstrably horrified. “You’ve heard of Ambrose Emerson, right?”

“Of course I have.” Arthur rolled his eyes. He was in politics, so of course he’d heard of Emerson. To be honest, you’d be hard pushed to find  _any_  well-read member of society who hadn’t stumbled across Emerson’s writing; the man was a genius, and had two Pulitzers to prove it. “What’s that got to do w-“

Arthur stopped dead in the middle of his sentence. He was fairly sure his heart had stopped too, just for a moment.

“Oh God,” Arthur muttered. “Oh God.  _Oh fucking hell, Elena_!”

“I think you’ve cracked it.” Elena shot him a very weak smile.

“ _Him?_ ” Arthur hissed as he tried not to look back in Merlin’s direction. “ _He’s_  Ambrose Emerson?”

Elena nodded with a wince. “Emerson is his pseudonym. His editor in New York thought it would be a good idea for Merlin to write under an assumed name and keep his real identity secret. He’s a bit like Superman, I guess.” Elena frowned. “Although, no, because I suppose he  _is_  actually a journalist. But then again Clark Kent was a journalist too a-“

“Stop!” Arthur held up a hand to stem the flow of rambling.

“Sorry,” Elena mumbled sheepishly. “I’m sure it’s fine, Arthur. You should probably apologise for anything horrible you said to him though. Preferably  _before_ he starts his new job.”

A small red flag raised in Arthur’s brain, barely noticeable through the fizzing and popping panic that was a result of Elena’s revelation. Gwen had said something last week about Merlin’s big job interview, hadn’t she? He knew he’d regret asking, but, “New job?”

“Merlin’s being courted by  _The Chronicle_.” Elena tugged on an earlobe self-consciously.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.  _The Chronicle_  was the oldest newspaper in Britain, not to mention the one with the widest readership, and therefore sway over the general public. Whatever Elena said next was  _not_ going to please Arthur in any way.

“He’s got a meeting with the executive board on Monday,” Elena whispered as the song around them faded into nothingness. “Gwen said he’s desperate to move back to London. Arthur, if they offer him this job he’s going to take it.”

“Which job?”

“Political Editor.”

“Fuck.” Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. If Merlin was going to be Political Editor for the  _The Chronicle_  then it was fair to assume that he’d be commenting on Arthur’s journey to Number 10. “But he’s not even thirty! How can he take on a job like that?”

Elena gave Arthur a pointed look. “Pot. Kettle. Arthur?”

Arthur conceded with silence.

“Just go and apologise,” Elena whispered, turning Arthur around and pushing him away from her. “Employ some of that famous Arthur Pendragon charm! You want  _The Chronicle_ on your side, Arthur.”

Arthur braced himself as he headed back towards the top table, politely excusing his way through the throng of still-dancing couples. An ecstatic laugh from Gwen as Lance dipped her dramatically in the middle of the dance floor cut through the music and chatter, and for a split-second Arthur was sideswiped by a pang of something that felt awfully like bittersweet regret.

“Princess!”

Arthur grimaced as the familiar voice was accompanied by a large hand clamping on his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck off, Gwaine,” Arthur muttered, shaking himself out of the other man’s grasp.

Gwaine beamed. “Language, Princess. If your minions hear you talking like that they’ll never vote for you. And then where would we be as a nation? Pendragon-less after - what is it now - seventy-seven years?”

“Seventy-eight,” Arthur corrected automatically. “And a half actually.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Trust you to know that. I bet you could tell me to the  _minute_ how long your family’s been running this country.”

Arthur wasn’t going to deign that with a response. “If you’ll excuse me.” He nudged past his former schoolmate. He had some ill-timed grovelling to attend to, after all.

“Oh come on, Arthur.” Gwaine’s grin widened. “I’m only messing with you. Have a drink with me. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Arthur muttered.

“Oh!” Gwaine threw an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, halting his progress. “You’re not still sore about that little mix up, are you?”

Arthur  _did_  turn back to Gwaine at that. “Little mix up? Is that what you’re calling it?”

Gwaine shrugged.

“You signed me up for an online dating site!” Arthur kept his voice down. 

“It was a joke!” Gwaine protested. “And a hilarious one at that.”

“It was  _not_  hilarious, Gwaine.” Arthur was barely resisting the urge to ball up his fist and connect it with Gwaine’s nose. “There was a queue of men outside my house.”

Gwaine guffawed loudly and tightened his grip on Arthur. “It was brilliant. It was like that bit at the beginning of  _Mary Poppins_.” He grinned. “But with attractive men instead of nannies!”

“ _Gwaine!”_

 _“_ Alright!” Gwaine held his hands up in mock surrender. “But to be fair, Arthur, they weren’t all supposed to be there at the same time. And how was I supposed to know your father was going to be the one to open the door? Come on, it’s not like the press got wind of it.”

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting one of those calming breathing exercises he’d read about. He sucked air in and held it for a long moment before exhaling loudly. 

“Are you alright there, Arthur?” Gwaine had the decency to look a little concerned.

Arthur gave a curt nod, curled his fingers into his palm and walked away without further comment.

Guests parted before him, and again he was horribly aware of the whispering. It didn’t seem to matter that many of the guests were members of the landed gentry due to Gwen’s connections and thus spent quite a lot of time with influential or otherwise ‘famous’ people - the future PM, heir to the Pendragon fortune, and  _Tatler’s_  Bachelor of the Year (again) apparently still warranted special attention.

So, as future PM, heir to the Pendragon fortune, and  _Tatler’s_  Bachelor of the Year (again) he had to restrain himself from shouting in dismay when it became apparent that the top table was empty and Merlin had disappeared. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**II:**   _Speak now (or forever hold your peace)_

Katie, who’d been dabbing thick foundation all over Arthur’s face, finally put the sponge down and began rooting through a case that held - in Arthur’s opinion, at least - a terrifying array of makeup products.

Arthur seized the brief moment of respite with a sigh of relief and liberated his phone from his pocket. Although it had felt like a lifetime, he’d only been trapped in the makeup chair for twenty minutes, and yet he was already the proud owner of four missed calls (and matching voicemails), seven text messages, and so many emails he didn’t even want to dwell on the number. His Chief of Staff, Leon, was speaking hurriedly into his phone in the corridor, so Arthur was certain that at least some of the communications he’d received were being dealt with.

He looked at the list of text messages and was pleased to see one from Gwen. He was less pleased to see that his witch of a sister had also sent him a missive.   No,  _two_ actually. He braced himself and thought it best to deal with Morgana first.

 **From:**   **Morgana**  
**7th March 2013 19:42**

_Did you know that Newscast has 8.3 million regular viewers? Although, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just remember that it’s LIVE, Arthur, so don’t say anything stupid._

**From: Morgana  
7th March 2013 19:42**

_P.S Thanks for not telling me who the other guest is! I had to find out from Gwen. Oh, do try and avoid just ogling him if you can…I’ll be watching._

Arthur gripped his phone so hard he thought he might actually crack the case. There was a reason he hadn’t told Morgana that his first appearance on  _Newscast_ as newly-appointed Prime Minister was also going to feature a certain Political Editor of  _The Chronicle_. 

Merlin Emrys had been making Arthur’s political life rather challenging since his move across the pond at the beginning of February. Merlin’s first week on the job had coincided with Uther Pendragon finally stepping down as Prime Minister after nearly twenty years. At the time Arthur had thought his father would have held out until the summer, but another bout of heart problems had pushed the elder Pendragon into retiring earlier than planned; Merlin, and  _The Chronicle_ in general, had had a field day with the news, running feature, after feature,  _after feature_ on Arthur; covering everything from his childhood to in-depth analyses of his policies. To be fair, every newspaper and magazine had followed the story, but  _The Chronicle_ , and it’s Politics pages in particular, had prodded and poked at every detail of Arthur’s life with a fine-toothed comb; questioning his suitability for the role with more vitriol than even the trashiest of the tabloid rags. 

Merlin had also been adding to the challenge of Arthur’s personal life. Now that Merlin was officially a London resident again he seemed to be monopolising the time of quite a few of Arthur’s friends and acquaintances. Arthur had turned down three dinner invitations in the preceding two weeks because he knew Merlin would also be in attendance; call him a coward, but Arthur would quite like to enjoy his food without the threat of a verbal attack (and an annoyingly eloquent one, at that) looming over the dinner table.

“Excuse me, Mr Pendragon.” 

Arthur barely had time to raise his head at Katie’s voice before she was thrusting a brush in his face and covering his cheeks in powder.

“Is all of this really necessary?” Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose against the tickle of the bristles.

“Oh yes,” she replied, continuing her task with enthusiasm. “We wouldn’t want our Prime Minister looking pasty on the television, would we? Just be glad you don’t have as pale skin as Mr Emrys. I had to use nearly a whole pot of foundation just to make him look normal under the lights!”

This time the crease that appeared in Arthur’s forehead had nothing to do with a makeup brush.

“He’s such a charming man,” Katie continued, oblivious to the meaning behind Arthur’s expression. “So friendly and polite. From the way he writes I thought he was going to be all aloof an’ such, but he’s not. He wanted to hear all about my kids - they’re both at university now, you know - and didn’t mind my nattering on. He’s got a lovely quiet intelligence about him, although I’m sure you already know that being who you are, an’ all.”

Arthur kept his mouth firmly closed.

“Right!” Katie announced, swiping the brush across Arthur’s nose with a flourish. “All done. Just don’t go touching your face until after the broadcast, please.”

Arthur thanked her as graciously as possible before sliding off the chair and darting out into the corridor. Leon was still on the phone, so he took the opportunity to open the message from Gwen while he waited.

**From: Gwen  
7th March 2013 19:30**

_Good luck tonight, Arthur. I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly. Just remember that Merlin’s a good man - it’s his job to ask difficult questions though! Call me when you’re finished and come over for a drink. We’d love to see you xxx_

Arthur grimaced again as he pocketed his phone. His head snapped up at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. 

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered as he saw Merlin striding towards him, head bowed as if in thought.

Merlin looked up, doing a slight double take when he saw Arthur a few paces away. Arthur watched as the other man hesitated, clearly trying to decide if he could nip into one of the rooms off the corridor without it looking like an escape.

“Hello,” Merlin nodded as he eventually decided to bite the bullet and keep walking.

“Good evening,” Arthur replied, tilting his chin up.

Merlin, to Arthur’s horror, stopped when he reached him. Arthur swallowed heavily, awaiting a pointed barb. Merlin was the only person Arthur had ever met who could truly take him apart with a sentence; laying every flaw or moment of indecision bare for the world (or at least the gathered audience) to see. Years of debate training at Eton, the Union at Cambridge, and even almost a decade of Westminster hadn’t prepared Arthur adequately to deal with one Merlin Emrys and his way with words.

“Nervous?” Merlin asked.

Arthur scowled. “Really? That’s your tactic?”

Merlin frowned. “Pardon?”

“Trying to unsettle me before we head in for the debate!” Arthur pointed a finger in the other man’s face. A small voice in his head tried to warn him that he was, perhaps, behaving like an spoilt adolescent.

“Um, no?” Merlin’s frown deepened. “Are you feeling alright?”

Arthur bristled. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” And, oh Christ, he seemed to be employing his sister’s clipped tones - the ones she always used when she was seriously pissed off but was refusing to admit it. Why was this happening to him?

“Well, good.” Merlin nodded, still looking at Arthur as though worried about his state of mind. “I’ll see you in there then.” He gestured towards the studio and started heading towards the door.

“Yes, you will!” Arthur replied before he could catch the stupid words falling from his stupid mouth.

Merlin’s expression clearly stated  _‘I think you’re loopy’_ before he shook his head and entered the  _Newscast_ studio.

Arthur raised his hands, pressing his fingers to his forehead before dropping his head into their hold with a groan. “What is wrong with me?”

“Would you truly like the answer to that, Sir?” Leon asked, pocketing his phone.

Arthur scowled; he wasn’t in the mood for his Chief of Staff’s attempts at humour. Not when he appeared to have lost his ability to form coherent,  _reasonable_ points only minutes before a live television broadcast.

Leon had the grace to look abashed. He remained silent for a few moments before switching the subject. “I’ve just returned a call from our opposition’s illustrious leader.”

“And?” Arthur curled his lip at the thought of Morgause Gorlois.

“She wanted to remind you that a lot of future voters will be watching this evening,” Leon replied, pursing his lips. “She thought you might need reminding not to say anything that would highlight your - and I quote - _youth and lack of relevant experience_.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly. “Well that’s bloody charming, isn’t it? There are times when I swear that woman is cut from the same cloth as my sister.”

Leon smirked slightly. “I know exactly what you mean, Sir.”

Arthur shook his head. “Right, well I suppose there’s no time like the present.” He nodded at Leon with a tense smile.

“Arthur?” Leon called, breaking his usually impeccable grasp of protocol.

Arthur turned back.

“You’ll be great.” Leon smiled encouragingly. “That Merlin chap might be a smart one, but so are you. You believe in your policies and your decisions, so just make that clear from the start.”

Arthur momentarily wondered if he should just propose marriage to his Chief of Staff - considering Leon was the only person who seemed to think Merlin wasn’t going to rip him to shreds tonight. But as Arthur was highly aware of his party’s policy on ‘inter-office’ relationships,  _and_  even more aware of the longing glances said Chief of Staff shot in Morgana’s direction whenever the harpy visited Downing Street, he scratched that idea out immediately and opened the studio door instead. 

“Ah, Mr Pendragon!” Jude Haxo, the host of  _Newscast_  shuffled across the set towards Arthur, his hands held out in welcome. “I’m sorry I wasn’t present for your brief rehearsal earlier.”

“Not at all, Mr Haxo,” Arthur replied, shaking the man’s hand firmly. He was slightly unnerved to note that up close Jude looked like his skin had been stretched far too tightly over his skull; the man had been presenting _Newcast_ for over three decades but seemed to have stopped ageing somewhere between years fifteen and twenty.

“As usual we’ll be reserving the debate portion of the broadcast until the second half of the hour.” Jude spoke as Arthur trailed behind him towards the main set. Merlin was already perched on one of the two blue armchairs set aside for guests; Jude’s black leather recliner was set between them. “If you just take a seat here, we’ll want you and Mr Emrys - sorry,  _Mr Emerson_  - on camera for the introduction, but then you’ll be free to go off set until your segment, as I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Yes, thank you.” Arthur nodded, taking the other armchair.

“If you’ll both excuse me,” Jude said, nodding his head between his two guests. “I’ll be back over just before we go on air. Just wave at Avril or Terry if you need anything.” And with that he was gone in a whirl of 1970s-inspired tailoring. 

“He’s a bit weird, isn’t he?” 

Arthur looked up in surprise when Merlin spoke. The other man was grinning slightly, with a sparkle in his eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen since their first disastrous meeting.

“I’m supposing I should apologise,” Merlin continued before Arthur could formulate a response more suitable than silent staring. “I’m a terrible drunk. I shouldn’t have mouthed off at you at the wedding.”

“It’s fine,” Arthur replied. “It was a stressful day for everyone.”

“And maybe I’ve been a bit…” Merlin trailed off to run a hand through his hair. “A bit, well,  _overzealous_  in some of my writing recently.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. “You’re really apologising?”

Merlin shrugged. “I started to think that maybe one of us should try and be the bigger person here.”

Arthur’s surprise morphed immediately into outrage. How insolent could this man be? “I beg your pardon?”

Merlin grimaced. “Fuck. I’ve done it again.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before turning startlingly blue eyes back on his ‘opponent’. “I don’t usually have this much trouble talking to people.”

“Should I be honoured?” Arthur snapped. “Because you’ve bloody had it out for me since day one.”

Merlin balked at that, all trace of apology vanishing from his expression in an instant. “Oh, because  _you’ve_  been so charming?” He sneered slightly. “You know, I thought you’d be a really interesting person to talk to the first time we met, but it took less than five seconds to realise you’re nothing more than a horribly entitled, colossal  _prat!_ ”

“You little-“

“Places everyone, please!” The floor manager shouted, effectively cutting Arthur’s rant off immediately.

Jude hurried towards his chair, dropping into it and quickly arranging cards on the low table in front of him. He looked warily between his two guests. “Everything okay here, gentlemen?”

Arthur pasted a fake smile onto his face. “Of course.”

“Yes.” Merlin was less skilled at hiding his scowl. “Fine, thanks.”

“We are live in  _ten_.” The floor manager began the countdown. “ _Nine._ ”

Arthur looked straight past Jude to shoot a dark look at Merlin. There was no way this could possibly go well.

“Three. Two. One.”

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

Arthur rested his forehead against the front door. savouring the feeling of the cool wood against his heated skin. He was starting to regret the order he’d given to Leon after they’d retreated from the  _Newscast_  studio around night-thirty; the order that had involved his Chief of Staff hopping out of the car to run into Waitrose on the King’s Road and return with a bottle of whisky.

Leon hadn’t touched a drop, and yet the contents of the bottle had begun to disappear rapidly as Arthur wallowed in self-reproach and increasing horror whilst Geoffrey drove them around the City in circles. Eventually Arthur had given the order to be driven to Kensington, and now here he was at gone two am, reaching for the doorbell he knew he shouldn’t be ringing at this time of night. Morning.  _Whatever_.

The fact that the door opened less than a second after the chime had rung out suggested that Leon might have called ahead to warn the occupants of their impending visitor.

“Woah, woah!” Lance grumbled as he reached out to stop Arthur listing face first through the open door. “Take it easy, Arthur.”

Arthur wondered when Lance had developed a twin. He blinked and the twin disappeared. Did Lance have a magical twin?

“Arthur?” Gwen asked in concern.

Arthur shook his head to rid himself of foolish notions of magic and imaginary siblings. “He  _slaughtered_  me. On live television.”

“What?” Gwen frowned. “I didn’t understand a word of that.”

Arthur repeated himself, unable to fathom why Gwen couldn’t hear him properly. He said as much but she didn’t stop frowning.

“Lance, we need to get him to the spare room.” Gwen shook her head at Arthur. “God, Arthur, did you go for a swim in a distillery?”

“Dist-“ Arthur frowned as his tongue refused to cooperate. “Dis-il-il-is-ilry-dis?”

Gwen blinked. “On second thoughts, let’s just get him to the sofa.”

Arthur allowed himself the indignity of being manhandled through the entrance hall and into the living room at the back of Gwen and Lance’s house; if only because he was slightly concerned he’d slither to the floor if Lance let go of him.

This theory was confirmed when Lance pushed him slightly towards the awaiting sofa and Arthur collapsed face first, his arms having zero chance of breaking his fall before his cheek smushed into the cushions.

“Bucket.” He thought he heard Gwen say from somewhere above him. Then, “and a glass of water.”

Gentle fingers threaded through his hair and Arthur hummed happily at the sensation. He was safe here. Merlin and his nasty words couldn’t get him here; couldn’t make him look stupid; couldn’t make him feel like he’d failed his father again.

“Just sleep, darling.” Gwen’s voice soothed him. “It will all look brighter in the morning.”

Arthur snuffled once and was out like a light.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

“Oh my God, kill me.” Arthur whimpered as daylight assaulted his eyes the next morning.

“I’d rather not deal with the press coverage.” Gwen grinned at him from the opposite armchair. A second later her expression softened into one of sympathy. “How are you feeling?”

Arthur took his time as he pushed himself upright on the sofa. careful not to move too quickly for fear his stomach or head would rebel instantly. “Like I went for a swim in a distillery.” He paused. “Did I already say that?”

Gwen laughed lightly. “Well, at least you seem to have recovered your grasp of the English language.”

Arthur frowned. “What?”

Gwen winced. “Arthur, we couldn’t understand a word you said when you turned up here. How much whisky had you had to drink?”

Arthur ran his hands over his face, pinching his cheeks slightly to rid himself of the overwhelming sense of embarrassment prickling up his spine. “Fuck.” Then he remembered what had spurred on the drinking in the first place. He bolted off the sofa, wobbling dangerously as he did so.

Gwen leapt from her chair to grab his arm. “Arthur! Sit down before you fall down!”

“Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck!” Arthur pulled at his hair. “ _Merlin_.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Gwen said soothingly. The grip on his arm tightened to one of steel, however. “Sit down, Arthur.”

Arthur sat, making noises of distress as he did so. “Not that bad? Gwen, it was like a massacre. Every point I made was dissected and refuted in two seconds flat.  _How_ does he do that?”

“Honestly, Arthur,” Gwen patted his arm encouragingly before retreating back to her armchair, “it was an excellent debate. Merlin just, sort of, had the upper hand for most of it.”

“I’m the bloody Prime Minister.” Arthur hung his head, dropping his arms between his open knees. “ _I’m_  supposed to have the upper hand.”

“I know,” Gwen cooed. “I know. But Merlin is rather brilliant.”

Arthur’s head shot up and Gwen’s eyes widened.

“Not that you’re not brilliant too!” Gwen held up her hands. “ I mean, you  _are_ brilliant…and I…oh  _hell_.” She gave up and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“He just stared at me with those fucking big blue eyes,” Arthur said eventually. “Just waiting for me to say something. All I could do was sit there like a useless lump.”

Gwen nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah, he does that to people.”

“How am I supposed to argue with someone who looks that bloody earnest?” Arthur waved his hands vaguely. “He could’ve announced that black was white and his argument would have made complete sense. Christ, the man should be PM; we’d be the most powerful country in the world in minutes.”

Arthur sighed as he stared at Gwen and Lance’s carpet. “Gwen you should have warned me.” He looked up at his friend. “About who he was. At least then I could have  _tried_  not to make such a twat of myself at your party.”

“Arthur,” Gwen shook her head, “I don’t think it would have made any difference. I always thought you two would be electric…” she shrugged. “I guess I was right about that, but I thought you might be a more  _positive_ influence on each other.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Electric?” Then narrowed. “Gwen, were you trying to play matchmaker again?”

“No.”Gwen’s denial was pitiful.

Arthur sighed again. He didn’t fancy pursuing that line of questioning any further. “What time is it?”

“Only about nine,” Gwen replied. “Lance waited for as long as he could before he had to leave, just in case you needed a man to man chat. We didn’t want to wake you though.”

“What about you?” Arthur felt even more horrible. “Surely you’re supposed to be at work designing super buildings?”

Gwen smiled softly. “That’s the benefit of co-owning a practice,” she replied. “I can take a morning off if I really need to.”

“But I can’t,” Arthur shook his head gently. “I need to call Leon. I think I’ve missed a meeting.”

“It’s all fine,” Gwen replied. “Leon’s been and gone. Your half-eight was moved to this afternoon, and your ten o’clock’s been cancelled.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve any of you.”

“Yes, you do,” Gwen replied, and she was smiling at him when he looked over.

“I suppose I should face the world,” he said, standing up slowly. “I’m sure the papers are having tons of fun already.”

“I promise you it wasn’t as terrible as you think it was.” Gwen nodded. “You were good together.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

“ _Honestly_.”

“Hmm,” Arthur replied.

“Undeniable chemistry,” Gwen replied, folding her arms with a slight grin.

Arthur looked appalled. “ _Gwen!_ ” He would have added to his argument, but his phone beeped, startling him. He pulled it from his pocket, grimacing as he noticed the low battery warning.

“What?” Gwen asked in concern as he groaned.

“Morgana.”

“And?” Gwen laughed. “What does she have to say for herself this morning?”

Arthur opened the message, his stomach rolling in apprehension.

**From: Morgana  
8th March 2013 9:04**

_If you’re not still in the presence of a certain dark haired genius this morning then you’re doing something terribly wrong and there’s no hope for you._

Arthur scowled and Gwen read the message over his shoulder with a laugh.

“I guess I’m not alone in my opinion,” she laughed, prodding Arthur in the arm. “Now stop moping and come and have a cup of tea. Oh, and you probably shouldn’t greet the press when you’ve still got makeup smeared all over your face.”

 

 

 

  **oOo**

**From: Unknown number  
8th March 2013 11:27**

_Hi. It’s Merlin. Gwen gave me your number. I just wanted to say no hard feelings about last night. It was a good discussion, and I think we both made points that the other should think about. Maybe next time we meet we can talk about something other than foreign policy. We might even get along…_

Arthur stared at the message until the screen faded into darkness. What was he supposed to do with a message like that? Was Merlin expecting a response? Why was he being friendly now? Was this a trap?

In the end he opened his desk drawer and shoved the phone inside. If he couldn’t see it, he wouldn’t think about it.

And if he  _did_  think about it throughout the day-  _quite a lot actually_  - then Arthur didn’t have to admit that to anyone. Not even to himself.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

**III:**  The beginning of what will be

“Arthur, my friend, you really didn’t have to do this!” Lance shook his head as his gaze travelled around the vaulted space in awe. 

Arthur grinned as he tapped his champagne flute lightly against Lance’s. “Just think of it as a bribe to make sure you still want me as Godfather by the time the Christening rolls around.”

Lance laughed. “It’s working!”

Gwen, waddling slightly, beamed at the two men as she climbed up the steps to them with Morgana at her side, her deep-burgundy evening gown swishing behind her.

“Arthur, I don’t know what to say.” Gwen’s eyes filled as she wound her arms around his neck. Her eighth-month bump made it a little awkward, but they grinned around it.

“Just say you’re happy and leave it at that.” Arthur chuckled. “Although, Morgana will probably want praise showered on her planning abilities for the rest of our lives.”

Morgana rolled her eyes and Gwen giggled.

“I’m kidding,” Arthur told his sister. “It’s brilliant, Morgana, really. Nobody could have topped this.”

Arthur took in Morgana’s pleased smile before allowing his eyes to wander around the Natural History Museum again; His sister really had outdone herself. When the Pendragons had decided they wanted to give Gwen and Lance one last hurrah before the newest arrival to the Grace-Du Lac household graced them with its presence Morgana had jumped straight into planning mode, and Arthur had used his high-profile position to ensure his sister got what she wanted; which was hosting a glittering party in Gwen’s favourite place in London in mid-December.

“Our parents want to thank you both again,” Gwen smiled at her friends as she gestured to where the Graces and the Du Lacs were chatting happily by the enormous Diplodocus that dominated the Central Hall.

“They really don’t need to.” Morgana was beaming as she put her arm around Gwen’s shoulders and squeezed. “I just can’t believe this time last year we were in panic mode about the wedding, and now you’re about to have a baby.”

Gwen grinned. “Well, we didn’t want to waste any time getting started on building our little army.” She smiled wider as Lance took her hand in his.

Morgana craned her neck slightly and looked down into the crowd. “Oh, Merlin’s here.”

Arthur hadn’t stumbled across Merlin since the  _Newscast_ debate back in March due to a combination of Arthur’s non-stop schedule and sheer dumb luck. Merlin, for his part, hadn’t been quite so scathing of Arthur’s policy changes as of late, and for that the Prime Minister could only be thankful, especially as the general election was less than half a year away.

“Who’s that with him?” Lance frowned.

“I have no idea.” Gwen looked surprised. “He didn’t mention he was seeing anyone.”

Arthur finally turned, scanning the milling guests below. It didn’t take long to spot Merlin, considering he was the only man in the Hall not wearing a dinner suit. Instead he looked suspiciously like he’d raided the wardrobe department at a Mumford and Sons’ show; Arthur was sure that the waistcoat peeking out under the buttoned dark-navy blazer was grey tweed. He was also sure that it suited him perfectly, but that wasn’t really a thought he wanted to dwell on.

“Well, well, well,” Morgana said quietly, smirking slightly. “And here I was thinking this evening couldn’t get any better. And yet…Merlin looks edible.”

“Put your claws away,” Arthur hissed in reply. “And keep your paws off him.”

Morgana grinned. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

Arthur ignored her.

“Merlin!” Lance greeted his friend happily as the man in question, and a girl with dark hair reached the top of the steps.

“Hi!” Merlin grinned at Lance, before turning to Gwen. “Look at you!”

“I know,” Gwen rolled her eyes. “I look like a sparkly whale.”

Merlin snorted. “You look  _beautiful.”_ He kissed her cheek before looking down at her stomach. “And how’s my future Godson or Goddaughter?”

Arthur’s sip of champagne promptly went down the wrong way and proceeded to try and choke him.  _Merlin’s_ Godchild? No, no, no; this baby was  _Arthur’s_  Godchild.

Lance took on the appearance of a deer caught in headlights as Morgana pounded her brother on the back (Arthur was rather painfully reminded of the Heimlich incident). Gwen looked surprised for a second before covering her mouth to hide what looked suspiciously like a grin.

“Christ, Arthur, are you alright?” Merlin was actually the only member of the group who looked worried about Arthur’s health in that moment. 

“Fine,” Arthur wheezed, holding up a hand in the hope that Morgana would get the point and stop hitting him for the hell of it. She did, but only after a few more well-aimed thumps. 

“Sorry about my brother.” Morgana oozed charm as she stepped forward to kiss Merlin on the cheek. “But you know what he’s like.” She turned her head to glance at the woman Merlin had arrived with. “Who’s your lovely friend?”

Merlin blushed slightly and Arthur coughed again. The two were unrelated; Arthur would swear on it.

“This is Mithian Lively,” Merlin replied. “We work together. She-“

“Has a column on international finance affairs,” Morgan finished the introduction for him. She beamed at Mithian. “I follow your work. It’s compelling.”

Mithian looked thrilled. “Really? Wow, thank you.”

Merlin looked gratified. “Mith, this is Morgana Pendragon, and the wonderful soon-to-be-parents Gwen and Lance.” He paused and gave Arthur an odd look. “And of course you already know that this is our esteemed leader.”

“Of course.” Mithian bobbed slightly in what might have been a curtsey. “Mr Prime Minister, Sir.”

“Arthur, please.” Arthur replied quickly. “Just Arthur.”

Mithian smiled prettily as she righted herself. “Of course. Arthur.”

“Who does a man have to shag to get a drink around here?”

Arthur didn’t even startle at the loud voice. “I guess Gwaine’s arrived.”

“Gwaine, shut up!” Elena’s chastisement followed almost immediately.

“Well, I see the real party’s up here!” Gwaine grinned as he bounded up the steps to the gathered group. “Gwen, you look incredible.” He caught her up in a bear hug before moving on to Lance. “Well done, mate. I hope you’re looking forward to never having a lie-in again!”

“ _Gwaine!”_ Elena hissed in warning, and it wasn’t the first time that Arthur wondered how on earth these two people had ended up together. 

“Oh!” Gwaine threw up his hands as he spotted Merlin. “Merlin, my old friend, how are you?”

“Er, fine, thanks.” Merlin mumbled into a mouthful of dinner jacket as he received the same embrace as the others. “How are you?”

“I’m great, mate,  _great_!”

Arthur shook his head. 

“Princess.” Gwaine nodded his head, thankfully not daring to go in for a hug. Arthur, whilst thankful for that, was also amused that Gwaine also avoided lunging for Morgana - he’d learned the hard way, but the lesson had obviously stuck with him. 

“And who’s this?” Gwaine had now honed in on a startled Mithian.

“Mithian,” she replied, gingerly shaking Gwaine’s hand, as though afraid he might pull her in for a crushing embrace with no warning.

“Sorry about him.” Elena nudged her boyfriend out of the way. “Hello, I’m Elena. I don’t know why I put up with Gwaine, to be honest.”

Arthur was starting to feel like he was in a sitcom; one featuring a protracted introduction scene. “I’ll go and get some drinks.” 

“I’ll help,” Merlin added as he hurried after Arthur, down the steps and across the Central Hall.

“Sir?” The server at the ‘bar’ almost bowed as Arthur approached; Arthur tried not to hold it against him.

“A special cocktail for our guest of honour.” Arthur pointed to a jug of something fruity looking - and non-alcoholic - that had been set aside for Gwen. “Two bottles of champagne, eight glasses just to be safe, and a Talisker. Double.”

“Ice?” The barman asked as he reached for the bottle of whiskey.

“Please.” Arthur nodded, before turning to Merlin. “What about you?”

“Oh.” Merlin looked slightly surprised. “Same as you?”

“You drink whiskey?” Arthur raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

Merlin shrugged. “Well I don’t like champagne, and Gwen’s cocktail looks a bit…” he trailed off and waved his arm. “ _Fruity_.”

Arthur rolled his eyes slightly and turned back to the barman. “Make that two Taliskers.”

The barman nodded dutifully and began loading bottles and glasses onto trays.

Arthur glanced back at Merlin, who looked equal amounts awed by and uncomfortable in his surroundings. He frowned as something occurred to him. “How did you get your date in here?”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“It was invitation only.” Arthur added. “Gwen said you’d refused the offer of a plus-one invite. So again, how did you get your date in?”

Merlin shuffled slightly. “Charm and a winning smile.”

The fact that Merlin’s intonation suggested it was more of a question than a statement of fact caused Arthur’s eyes to narrow. “Merlin, did you  _sneak_  a girl into the Natural History Museum?”

“No?” Merlin’s cheeks were stained with a blush that was deepening by the second.

Arthur snorted slightly. “You are aware that the gentlemen on the doors tonight are highly-skilled ex special forces, aren’t you?”

Merlin gulped.

“And,” Arthur continued, “I’m sure they’d be very interested to know how you got past them.” He held back the grin that was threatening to ruin his serious tone. So  _this_  is what it felt like to have the upper hand when dealing with Merlin Emrys, was it? Arthur fully intended to savour every moment.

“I…um…uh…” Merlin looked confused (and somewhat affronted) by the uncertain sounds falling from his lips.

Arthur couldn’t hide his glee any longer, and threw his head back with a guffaw that would have appalled his father.

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin grumbled. 

“Well, you must really like her,” Arthur replied, grinning. “Does she know you risked life and limb to get her in? I’m sure that would earn you a few boyfriend points.”

Merlin glared at him. “Mithian isn’t my girlfriend. And who says ‘boyfriend points’, anyway? Are you getting your information from  _Cosmo_  these days?”

“ _Tatler_ , actually,” Arthur replied primly.

Merlin blinked in surprise for a moment, and then huffed out a laugh that sounded far more involuntarily than it should have done. Arthur had to grin back.

“Well, are there pigs flying somewhere?”

Arthur groaned and turned at the sound of sister’s voice. “Why are you over here?”

Morgana folded her arms, every piece of jewellery on her arms catching the light as she did so ( _Exhibitionist_ , thought Arthur). “I came down to see if you two were ever bringing drinks back. I  _told_  you we should have had drinks waiters.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur replied tightly, “um…” He gestured to the barman. “Name?”

“George, sir.” He did actually bow this time, and Arthur refrained from clenching his fists.

“ _George_  here,” Arthur continued, “is doing an excellent job.” This was patently not true as he was moving slower than a dead snail and appeared to be polishing the bottle of whiskey rather than pouring from it.

“Of course,” Morgana smiled brightly at George (who subsequently bowed again), “but I’m parched, Gwaine’s moaning, and Merlin’s ditched his date.” Her eyes flickered over Merlin before settling back on her brother. “Although you two did look quite cosy over here so maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open in a terribly unappealing manner, and Merlin actually covered his mouth with his hands in surprise.

“ _Morgana_ ,” Arthur hissed.

Morgana beamed. “You’re so cute. Both of you.” She then had the audacity to pat them both on the arm before looking to George. “George, be a dear and help me carry these trays upstairs. I don’t think the rest of us will be drinking tonight if we leave it to these two.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and picked up a tray with a bottle of champagne and four flutes on it.

“Of course, madam.” George bobbed his head, abandoned the whiskey bottle and trotted off after Morgana with the other tray.

Arthur’s eyes widened in outrage. “That jumped-up little toad!”

“Which one?” Merlin asked as they were left alone, and still drink-less.

Arthur snorted at that, and was surprised at how pleased he was when Merlin grinned back. He was fully aware what Morgana had been implying and he was also fully aware that she was utterly wrong. He and Merlin had not been  _cosy._ They didn’t like each other, after all. And Merlin was a bit of a git; albeit one with very blue eyes, and cheekbones you could-

 _No_. Arthur halted that train of thought almost immediately. Those two glasses of champagne must have gone straight to his head. Merlin was looking at him curiously, and that just  _would not do._

“Right, well let’s start with a problem we can solve.” Arthur casually sauntered behind the bar and helped himself to the now-sparkling bottle of Talisker. He then held out the two whiskey tumblers George had just about managed to place ice-cubes into.

Merlin took the glasses with a nod of thanks.

“The other problem is my sister and her startling ability to make everyone feel as uncomfortable as possible,” Arthur continued as he gestured for Merlin to follow him back across the Hall. “I’ve been trying to solve that one for the past twenty years, with little success.”

Merlin laughed. “It’s alright.”

“She’s just trying to wind me up,” Arthur added as they reached the steps, feeling the need to apologise for Morgana, but not entirely sure why. “Don’t worry, it’s only my life she’s trying to ruin on a daily basis, so she won’t say anything to embarrass you in front of Mithian.”

“It wouldn’t matter if she did,” Merlin replied. “Mithian has about as much romantic interest in me as I do in her. Which is to say none at all.”

Arthur said nothing; mainly because he didn’t really know what an appropriate answer would be.

“There you are!” Gwaine bellowed, firmly cutting off the need for Arthur to reply anyway. “The mighty Godfathers return!” 

Arthur wrinkled his nose; he’d forgotten about that. He just really hoped this wasn’t part of a continued effort from Gwen to play matchmaker again; she’d had plenty of success with lots of other friends, but Arthur continued to thwart her efforts and was determined to remain stubbornly single for as long as possible. And it’s not like Merlin was Arthur’s type anyway. For a start he was pigheaded, slightly scruffy - I mean just  _look_  at that hair! - cleverer than Arthur (something he was loathed to admit), rude, and… _staring straight back at him_.

Arthur twitched slightly and looked away when Merlin raised a questioning eyebrow.  _Fuck_ , now it looked like Arthur had been staring. Which he hadn’t been. No, he’d been assessing Merlin’s faults; there was a difference!

He looked down at his arm when he felt someone prod him. He followed the line of the elegant hand until his eyes reached Mithian.

“Well?” she asked, a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.

Arthur shook his head. “Sorry? What was the question? I was somewhere else there for a second.”

He was sure he heard Morgana whisper  _‘weren’t you just’_ but he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Mithian laughed; a melodious tinkle of a giggle that should have had any man staring at her in wonder. “A dance, Arthur. I asked if the Prime Minister wouldn’t mind dancing with me?”

Arthur frowned. “What about Merlin?”

“Two left feet,” Merlin replied.

Arthur glanced at him, and Merlin shrugged. Arthur assumed the other man was aiming for nonchalance, but he was missing by a mile with the forced smile he gave.

“Come on!” Mitihan beamed, dragging Arthur after her. Morgana managed to slip the whiskey bottle from his grasp before he dropped it in surprise, but nobody did anything else to prevent him from being pulled down the stairs onto the dance floor just as the orchestra started up another waltz.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

“Really,” Arthur pleaded as Mithian tried to pull him closer once more, “I don’t normally dance for longer then five seconds.”

Mithian pouted prettily and for a split-second Arthur considered giving into her request for ‘just one more dance’. But it had been almost an hour since she’d pulled him onto the dance floor, and he really wanted to get back to his friends. Don’t get him wrong, Mithian had been a wonderful dance partner; she was light on her feet, a good conversationalist, intelligent  _and_ beautiful. And yet the elusive  _something_  that Arthur knew he should be feeling remained entirely out of his grasp.

“Plus,” Arthur added as he slipped his hands from Mithian’s, “I think you should probably get back to your date.”

Mithian frowned, before her eyes widened with a spark of amusement. “Merlin’s not my date, Arthur. Truly.” She gestured for him to follow her through the throng of dancing couples as she spoke. “He owed me a favour and I asked him to get me here tonight.”

Arthur tilted his head in confusion. “Why?”

Mithian ducked her head coyly, before looking back up at Arthur through her lashes. “Because of you, Arthur. I wanted to meet  _you_.”

Arthur blinked in surprise.

“And not because I write for  _The Chronicle_ ,” Mithian added quickly, but she was still smiling. “But because I thought you looked rather lovely. And I was right about that.”

Arthur tugged on his earlobe and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was blushing. “Mithian, I…it’s very flattering of you to say so, but….um…”

Mithian grinned. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I understand.” Then she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for the dance.”

Arthur could only stare after her as she glided away from him.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question.”

Arthur whirled around to find Merlin leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed and resignation written in the slump of his shoulders and the curl of his lips.

“What?” Arthur asked stupidly.

Merlin tilted his head slightly in the direction of Mithian, who was now talking to Morgana and Gwen. “You like Mithian.”

Arthur frowned.

“No, that’s okay.” Merlin held up his hands; his left still clutching the whiskey glass from earlier. “Really. It’s like I said earlier; we’re not together. She’s brilliant though, and I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

Arthur didn’t even manage another paltry ‘what?’; he just stared at Merlin in bafflement.

Merlin replied with a nod. “I know we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye, but Gwen and Lance are practically family so I appreciate you inviting me. I guess I’ll see you at the Christening.”

Arthur opened his mouth, frowned, and then closed it again. “Merlin, I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here.”

“Arthur, it’s fine,  _really_ ,” Merlin replied, and that rueful smile from earlier was back on his face. “You and Mithian-“

“Merlin!” Arthur barked, before lowering his voice when he noticed guests turning their heads to look at him. Really,  _why_  must Merlin always cause Arthur to get shout in public? “There is nothing going on between me and Mithian. I only danced with her because apparently you’re incapable of walking in a straight line without tripping over your own two feet.” His eyes narrowed. “And while we’re at it, it’s always your fault that I have to bloody dance!”

Merlin frowned. “Pardon?”

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing.”

Merlin looked at Arthur in the same way he had when they’d first met; all calculating sharpness wrapped in brilliant blue.

“Arthur, look, I th-“

Merlin was cut off as a guest hurrying past bumped into him with a mumbled ‘sorry!’. He stumbled slightly and the whiskey glass tumbled from his fingers.

Arthur winced in preparation for the expected smash of glass on the tiled floor.

It didn’t come. He blinked to clear the image in front of him - the image he knew was impossible. But no matter how many times he tried, the picture remained the same.

Arthur eyes snapped up from where the whiskey glass was suspended an inch from the floor. Merlin was looking back at him; surprise and horror warring for dominance in his expression.

Merlin blinked and the glass dropped, shattering on impact with the unforgiving marble. 

Arthur stared at Merlin, and Merlin stared back as George - already armed with a dustpan and brush - silently moved between them and cleaned up the breakage. 

Arthur’s brain momentarily sparked back into life to make a note about congratulating Morgana on finding such prepared staff, but it shuddered back into nothingness when Merlin blinked again. 

“I have to go,” Merlin said hurriedly. He barely finished his sentence before he was turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

Arthur shivered as the air seemed to cool as Merlin turned away from him. What the hell had just happened?

“Arthur, are you alright?” 

The man in question shook his head to clear it, and found that Lance was grasping his arm lightly. “What?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Lance replied, concern evident in his voice.

“It’s Merlin. He-” Arthur began but cut himself when he immediately realised he had no idea what he was about to say. 

Something that looked suspiciously like understanding flitted across Lance’s face and even with the lingering sense of fog in his mind Arthur saw it.

“How did he do that?” Arthur asked, and if he hasn’t been so confused he was sure he could have sounded more intimidating.

Lance let go of Arthur’s arm and stepped backwards slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Arthur.”

“Yes, you do.” Arthur nodded.  _Ah-ha!_  There was the accusatory tone he was used to being able to access at a moment’s notice. “You know  _exactly_  what I’m talking about.”

Lance - in Arthur’s opinion, at least - was ready to give in and explain everything, and would have done exactly that if Leon hadn’t appeared and gripped Arthur’s arm with a worrying amount of force.

“Sir, I need you to follow me immediately,” Leon hissed, already dragging Arthur away from a frowning Lance. “A situation has arisen and your security in this location has been compromised.”

Not for the first time Arthur wished Leon would stop being so bloody competent and professional most of the time and talk to him like a human being.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he followed Leon across the dance floor and through a nondescript door that lead to the staff corridors; Arthur knew from previous visits these hidden hallways naked through the museum as an internal network for the many people who worked all over the building.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” Leon replied, looking slightly apologetic.

Arthur came to an immediate halt. “What? What do you mean you’re not at liberty to say. I’m the bloody Prime Minister.”

Leon nodded. “Yes, Sir, but I’m afraid that this goes above your clearance level.”

Arthur’s face promptly rearranged itself into an outraged expression. “I’m the PM! There  _is_  no higher level of clearance.”

Leon gave his boss a look that suggested he thought Arthur might be quite sweet for believing that this was the case. Arthur did  _not_  like that look.

“At least tell me where we’re going.” Arthur snapped when Leon’s iron-grip returned on his forearm.

“To the War Rooms,” Leon replied. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop walking if he’d tried. “The War Rooms have been a museum for nearly thirty years. They were decommissioned in the forties!”

“No, Arthur,” Leon shook his head as they suddenly burst out into the crisp night air, “I can promise you that they weren’t.”

The back door of Arthur’s car was already open and awaiting his arrival.

“After you, Sir.” Leon shrugged.

Arthur stared at him for a long moment before straightening his spine and nodding. “I’m the bloody Prime Minister,” he muttered to himself as he climbed into the car. 

As the car glided silently away through central London Arthur became surer with every mile that whatever this was about, it had something to do with Merlin. 

Merlin who, if he’d been a mystery before, was now a bloody conundrum.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

Arthur had a headache; a real, right-behind-the-eyes, tiny-men-with-hammers-behind-your-eyeballs, splitting  _headache_. He pinched the bridge of his nose, blowing air through his lips as he did so.

It had taken an hour for his father to explain that the good old United Kingdom wasn’t quite as straightforward as he’d initially anticipated. An hour for Arthur to realise that his current war on unemployment wasn’t really the war he should be focusing on; wasn’t the war that had been waging beneath the surface of the public consciousness for as long as there had been a Britain. An hour to realise that the understanding of the world had been ripped away from him and replaced with something that sounded impossible. An hour to realise that although Arthur was Prime Minister in name, it was his father who was still pulling the country’s strings.

An hour for all of that; and yet it had taken less than ten seconds to understand where Melin fit into all of this.

“Magic is a scourge,” Uther had stated, straight-backed and intense. “It is a stain on the fabric of decency.”

The textile-based metaphors had actually continued for quite a long time, but Arthur had tuned out by that stage; his thought process derailed entirely by a soul-deep certainly that he’d witnessed magic that evening, and that Merlin had been the one responsible for it.

“The Pendragon family has long been instrumental in removing this blight from our nation,” Uther had continued. “Sorcerers hide amongst the decent common people, pretending that they are not twisted, vile invaders capable of killing a man with nothing more than a muttered word. It has been many years since  _magic_  has been detected in our glorious city; almost fifteen since the last time a sensor was activated by such powerful sorcery.”

Arthur had almost snorted slightly at that moment.  _Powerful sorcery?_ A whiskey tumbler had been suspended an inch above the ground for a few seconds. He also thought it prudent not to ask how any sorcerers had ever been caught in the past if they could kill someone without too much thought.

“The sorcerer must be caught, contained and dealt with, Arthur. He,  _or she_ , is dangerous and must be stopped We have the means to silence them forever.” Uther had been reaching his conclusion at this point. “I had hoped to keep this burden from you for many more years, but now the time has come for you to accept your role as this nation’s protector. You will not fail your country, Arthur, and you will not fail me.”

Uther had swept out of the room at that; leaving his only son with no useful information about what exactly he was supposed to do when he tracked down the sorcerer, and certainly before Arthur could question his father’s sanity.

If this was a ruse, it was a pretty good one. Only it wasn’t April, and Uther Pendragon had never really been known for his sparkling personality and sense of humour.

“Are you alright, Sir?” Leon asked carefully, drawing Arthur back to the present.

“How long have you known?” Arthur asked. “About magic, I mean.”

“All my life,” Leon replied calmly. “My father worked for your father; my grandfather for your grandfather; and so on back for as long as my family can remember. The truth about magic has been passed down with the job title.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a long moment. simply focusing on breathing. “And you believe magic to be a threat?”

Leon looked like he was taking more care over this words than usual when he eventually replied. “I believe magic can be used for evil, but only in the hands of those who choose that path.”

“Like any other weapon?” Arthur asked, keeping his voice down even though he was sequestered back in Downing Street.

“Exactly,” Leon replied. He checked his watch subtly before adding. “Is there anything else you require this evening, Sir?”

Arthur shook his head slowly, unfolding himself from the sofa. “No, thank you, Leon.” He tried to stretch out the tension in his shoulders. “But please let me know if the security team turn up any information on the apparent…” he trailed off with a flinch, “ _sorcerer._ ”

“Of course.” Leon bobbed his head respectfully before letting himself out of the drawing room. 

Arthur had always done as his father had told him; always tried to live up to the almost-impossible expectations Uther Pendragon had set for his son and heir. He would never admit to anyone how much he thirsted for his father’s approval, and he had never turned down an opportunity to impress his father in the past. But now…

Arthur drew his phone from his pocket. Merlin was annoying and had the dubious talent of being able to piss Arthur off with a word,  _and_  he appeared to possess a power Arthur had never thought possible outside of the pages of a fantasy novel. But to hand him over to Uther?  _We have the means to silence them._ Arthur gulped. And it was ridiculous anyway, surely?  _Merlin_ , dangerous?

He was so startled when his phone rang that he dropped it on to the carpet. By the time he’d managed to clamp his fumbling fingers around the handset it had stopped ringing, simply declaring ‘ **Missed call - Gwen** ’ on the screen.

Arthur frowned as he looked at the time; two-thirty am. He’d sent Gwen and his sister a brief explanatory message about his sudden disappearance earlier (he’d passed it off as urgent PM-duties), so he wasn’t expecting either of them to call him now. 

He was just about to call Gwen back when the handset chirped again. This time Arthur had presence of mind enough to hold the handset up to his ear. “Gwen?”

“Oh, Arthur.” Gwen sounded like she was sobbing.

Arthur immediately stood, reaching for his coat before he asked, “What’s happened? Are you okay? Is Lance? Where are you? I’m on my way.”

Gwen sniffled. “It’s Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Arthur asked in surprise, trying to ignore the way his stomach bottomed out at the name.

“He-” was all Gwen managed before she started sobbing again.

Arthur’s mind was reeling. What had happened? Had his father been more aware of the sorcerer’s identity than he’d let on. Had they found Merlin? Was Merlin d-

“Arthur.” Lance came on the phone.

“Lance? What’s going on?” Arthur was trying to button up his coat and track down Leon.

“Don’t worry too much. Gwen’s just taking it terribly because I don’t think she should be coming with me.”

“Taking  _what_  terribly?” Arthur asked.

“We’ve just had a call to say that Merlin walked himself to A and E with a suspected broken wrist, and concussion.”

 _Fuck_. “What happened?

Leon appeared in the hallway with a questioning tilt of his head, and Arthur snapped ‘Get the car’ quickly.

“He was walking home after the party,” Lance replied. “You know he left early…”

Yes, Arthur did know that, thank you very much, but he didn’t like the slight note of accusation that had crept into Lance’s voice.

“It looks like he was jumped by a couple of guys fairly soon after,” Lance added, taking Arthur’s silence for permission to continue. “They took his phone and wallet, but that’s all he had on him.”

Arthur frowned as the front door was opened for him. “Didn’t he fight back?”

Lance was silent for a moment. “No.”

“But surely he could have?” Arthur asked slowly as he climbed into the waiting car. If Merlin was truly what his father said a sorcerer should be, then surely the attackers would be nothing more than scorch marks on the pavement?

“Perhaps, but Merlin’s not like that, Arthur,” Lance replied carefully. “He’s not…he doesn’t hurt people.”

“Not even to defend himself?” Arthur asked as the gate at the end of Downing Street opened and the car pulled back out onto an almost-deserted Whitehall. 

“It’s not really his style,” Lance replied.

“Where are we going, Sir?” Leon asked from the front passenger seat.

“I don’t know yet,” Arthur replied. “Lance?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Which hospital is Merlin at?”

“Chelsea and Westminster,” Lance replied slowly. “Why?”

“Chelsea and Westminster Hospital,” Arthur parroted. Leon or Geoffrey didn’t question Arthur’s request, thankfully, and the appropriate route was calculated.

“Arthur, are you in a car?” Lance asked, sounding surprised.

“He’s going to Merlin?” Gwen’s voice in the background carried softly into Arthur’s ear.

“Yes, Lance,” Arthur sighed, “I’m in a car.” He hoped Lance wouldn’t ask why the Prime Minister was heading across London to find a man he didn’t even like all that much, because Arthur didn’t have an answer for that.

“Right,” Lance replied. “I guess I’ll see you in a minute then.”

“Yes, I should think you will,” Arthur replied. “And tell Gwen she shouldn’t be going anywhere near a hospital at the minute. Does she know how many germs there might be floating around?” It all came out a bit more snappish than he’d anticipated, but he was feeling too off kilter to care. 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Lance replied before hanging up and leaving Arthur to his thoughts; a state he was never particularly fond of.

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

After the third member of staff tried to ask him about NHS funding, Arthur started to think he should have worn a disguise. He was aware of how terrible an idea it was to turn up somewhere like this, but his feet seemed to have a mind of his own as they carried him through the corridors of the hospital. He hated hospitals - he always had - and he could feel an unwarranted level of anxiety beginning to course through his veins with every step he took deeper into the building.

Finally a curtain was thrown back and there sat a pathetic-looking version of one Merlin Emrys, apparent-sorcerer and writer extraordinaire sitting on the edge of a bed. He looked even more pathetic as he provided a stark contrast to the brightly bedecked Christmas tree next to him.

“Arthur!” Merlin squeaked in surprise, before wincing as the movement jarred his whole body.

Arthur stared at him for a long moment; eyes trailing from the still-forming black eye to the split lip, to the ruined suit and finally landing on the wrist being held close to his chest.

“It’s not that bad,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise before he turned around and snapped the curtains of the cubicle shut to hide them from the curious glances of various staff members and other patients. He could feel his anger levels rising dramatically.

“Arthur, what are you doing?”

Arthur whirled around, his coat flapping dramatically as he did so. “No,  _you’re_ the one who needs to answer questions, not me.”

Merlin hunched further in on himself, curling his shoulders down and looking even smaller than he had when Arthur had first arrived. “Okay.”

This annoyed Arthur even further. Where was the demonstration of power his father had warned him about?  _This,_ this bruised shadow of a journalist, was the biggest threat facing the world? “What are you?”

Merlin looked up, swallowing slowly, and, fuck, even with one eye swollen shut he still had the ability to render Arthur speechless with the intensity of his stare. “I’m a sorcerer.” He shrugged and it was clear it pained him to do so. “I don’t know why, or how. I’ve been like this since I was born.”

“Magic doesn’t exist,” Arthur replied, even though every shred of evidence he had at his disposal suggested otherwise.

Merlin smiled slightly, wincing again. “Now, even your most devoted of voters could tell that you don’t think that’s true.”

“Why didn’t you fight back when you were attacked?” Arthur asked, folding his arms defensively. “Can’t you just kill a man with a thought?”

Merlin looked appalled and, much to Arthur’s horror, climbed carefully to his feet. “Arthur,” he said slowly as he hobbled towards the other man, “I would never  _ever_  use magic to hurt someone.”

Arthur swallowed, torn between wanting to back away from Merlin and wanting to get him to sit back down again. “So you just let them do this to you?”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

Arthur knew Merlin was trying to lighten the mood, but his comment only served to rile him up further.

“Of course I care!” Arthur spat.

Merlin was the one to take a step backwards at Arthur’s vehemence.

“Fuck.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know why I’m here.” That wasn’t really the truth, though. Arthur was here firstly because he knew it was his fault Merlin had left the party early; if he’d left later perhaps he wouldn’t have been caught up in this. But more importantly there was  _something_  telling Arthur that he had to make sure Merlin was alright.

Merlin bit a painfully-chapped lip lightly as he lowered himself back onto the bed. “Thank you,” he said quietly, staring at the floor tiles.

Arthur had never felt this awkward in his life, and so he resorted to his usual defence mechanism. “What’s wrong with your wrist?” He snapped, striding forward to take a seat in the chair next to Merlin.

“They think it’s broken,” Merlin replied, still not meeting Arthur’s eyes.

“ _Think_?” Arthur stood up abruptly. “Haven’t they done an x-ray? Why isn’t there someone here sorting out? You should have a splint! Why haven't y-“

“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice sounded far steadier than it had all evening. He also sounded quite familiarly irritated, but that was neither here nor there.

Arthur stopped pacing and looked at the other man in surprise. “What?”

Merlin pointedly looked at the chair Arthur had recently vacated. “It’s nearly Christmas and everyone here’s rushed off their feet. They’ll get to me when they can. So stop being a prat, shut up, and sit down.” 

Arthur gaped. “I beg your pardon?” He put his hands on his hips, realised that was way too like Morgana for his liking, then threw his arms up in the air instead. “I just drove across London to make sure you were okay, I would have thought a little bit of  _gratitude_  wouldn’t go amiss.”

It was Merlin’s turn to gape. He shot Arthur a murderous look (somewhat ruined by his bruised face). “Gratitude? I already said thank you, you bloody great big git. What more do you want?”

“Right, that’s it!” Arthur tightened his scarf. “I’m leaving. There’s no point even trying when it comes to you, is there?” He threw open the curtain and stalked back out into the bustling area of A and E. 

Arthur had nearly reached the exit when he made the mistake of turning back. The curtain to Merlin’s cubicle was still open and the hunched figure on the bed was unmoving. All around him there were elements of the festive season, and even though he could see pain and discomfort at every turn, Arthur could also see people surrounded by friends and family (and complete strangers who were just waiting to make sure someone was okay). God, he  _was_  a bloody great big git, wasn’t he?

Arthur sighed, mumbling a few choice words as his ingrained sense of chivalry kicked in. He balled his hands into fists and stalked back in the direction he’d come from. 

Merlin looked up when the curtains swished closed once more, and Arthur was gratified that he’d never seen Merlin look more surprised.

“Right,” Arthur said snottily as he took his seat again. “It looks like we might be here for a while, so I suggest you start telling me everything I don’t already know before Lance gets here.”

Merlin looked mildly horrified and looked at his wrist as if to say ‘but I’m injured!’.

“It’ll keep your mind off it,” Arthur replied.  _And mine_   _off what not telling my father about this means,_ he added silently - there was no need for Merlin to hear about that.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

“Go home before Gwen comes down to get you herself,” Arthur sighed tiredly as he dropped his head back against the wall.

“I’ll wait until they’ve finished with the cast,” Lance replied, yawning widely. “You didn’t have to stay, Arthur.”

“Of course I did,” Arthur replied. “It was my fault he left the party when he did.” Oh, and that was just a bit too honest for God-knows-what-o’clock in the morning.

“Arthur…”Lance trailed off. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Arthur wanted to protest; tell Lance that of  _course_  it was his fault, but instead he said “My father knows.”

“About what?”

Arthur opened his eyes and tilted his face enough that he could see Lance’s reaction when he added, “About magic.”

Lance sucked in a breath. “How? He can’t…But Merlin-“

Arthur held up a hand. “Stop. I’m not going to say anything about Merlin. God knows why, but I’m not.”

Lance relaxed again immediately, and Arthur was pleased that his word was trusted.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do, Lance?” Arthur asked. “And more to the point, what the fuck am I still doing  _here_? I hate hospitals.”

Lance patted his friend on the arm briefly. “I know. Gwen told me. She felt so guilty that she’d called to tell you in the first place - she knows being somewhere like this would remind you of-“ He cut himself, clearly thinking he’d overstepped a mark.

“My mother,” Arthur finished softly. He swallowed the lump that came unbidden to his throat. He’d only been a child when his mother had died, leaving him alone with an angry sister and a father who’d never been the same again, but he could still smell the antiseptic that had lingered in the hospital’s corridors as he’d walked away from her still figure for the last time.

“Arthur, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright.” Arthur managed to lift one corner of his mouth. “Please just go home to that wonderful wife of yours and make sure she’s alright. I’ll get Merlin home. I promise.”

Lance looked ready to argue but another pointed glance from Arthur had him agreeing. “Thank you, my friend, you’re a good man.” He stood up, shaking Arthur’s hand as he did so.

Arthur shook his head slightly. “That’s debatable. Now go, before I stop feeling so benevolent and make  _you_  take the world’s most useless wizard home.” He frowned when he realised those words didn’t surprise him half as much as he would have expected.

Lance looked as unsure as Arthur felt. “We’ll call you in the morning.” He looked at his watch and made a face. “ _Later_  in the morning.”

Arthur grunted and closed his eyes. Resting them for a minute wouldn’t hurt.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

“Arthur?”

His eyes snapped open, flinching so violently he almost slid right off the blue plastic chair onto the floor. Merlin was sitting next to him, frowning in concern.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked.

Arthur hurriedly scrubbed a hand over his mouth, horribly suspicious that he may have dribbled during his brief snooze. “What? I’m fine. Are you ready to go?”

“I haven’t got a concussion,” Merlin said, then pointed sadly at his right arm, which was now encased in a white plaster cast. “They wouldn’t give me a blue one.”

Arthur snorted. “Well you aren’t  _really_  a child, are you,  _Mer_ lin?

Merlin actually stuck his bottom lip out slightly. “It would have slightly made up for the fact that I won’t have the use of my hand for the next six weeks.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Arthur replied as he got to his feet.

Merlin sighed. “I write everything by hand before I type it up onto my computer.”

“What?” Arthur wrinkled his nose. “It’s 2013, Merlin, nobody really uses pen and paper anymore.”

“Well,  _I_  do,” Merlin replied grumpily. “And I’m right-handed.”

Arthur shook his head. “Can you worry about this at home instead? There’s bloody daylight outside by the looks of things, so I really think it’s time to leave.”

“I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Arthur was too tired for an argument. “Merlin-“

“No.” Merlin held his free hand up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just being an idiot.” He held Arthur’s gaze. “I’m really glad you’re here, Arthur. I mean, I haven’t got a bloody clue  _why_  you’re still here…but I’m glad.”

Arthur was starting to think his still being here had something to do with the way his breath caught slightly whenever Merlin looked at him without a trace of annoyance. But it was too early to examine such a thought. “Home.”

“Home,” Merlin agreed.

Arthur picked up the bag containing Merlin’s ruined blazer and shirt, painkillers, and information leaflets about his cast before nodding towards the exit with a rush of relief.

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

“You live  _here_?” Arthur wrinkled his nose at the shabby terraced house the car had pulled up outside of. 

Merlin rolled his only available eye. “Yes, Arthur, this is where I live. I happen to like it here.”

“But it’s…” Arthur trailed off as he looked around when he stepped out of the car.

“Small?” Merlin prompted. “A bit tired?”

Arthur scanned the overgrown front garden and the peeling paint on the windowsills. “I was going to go with hideous.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. “It’s not  _hideous_.”

Arthur only wrinkled his nose again before following Merlin towards the front door. Leon and Geoffrey looked quite pleased to be staying in the car.

“I’m just glad they didn’t steal my key,” Merlin said as he shoved his hands into his trouser pocket and happily produced said key. “I haven’t got a spare one, and my housemate’s away on business in India for the next six weeks.”

Arthur momentarily considered just running back to the car as quickly as his shiny shoes would carry him, but then Merlin dropped the key and awkwardly tried to pick it up from the gravel.

“Oh for pity’s sake.” Arthur nudged Merlin gently out of the way and knelt down to retrieve the key. “ I wonder how you’ve lived so long, you know.”

Merlin said nothing as Arthur turned the key in the lock and pushed open the front door.

Arthur, for his part, was slightly taken aback when the door opened to reveal the inside of the house. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered one whole wall of the living room, and yet more books were stacked in piles on the mantelpiece, perched right next to what Arthur had an awful feeling was a Pulitzer medal. Arthur was struck once more by how different Merlin seemed in ‘reality’ to the well-read, sharp-minded Ambrose Emerson he constructed in print.

“Yeah, I know it’s a mess,” Merlin said as he caught Arthur staring, “but I like it like this.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” Arthur replied distractedly as his eyes traced the names of authors on the spines of books closest to him. Was there anything Merlin  _hadn’t_ read?

“Oh,” Merlin replied quietly. “Well…”

Arthur pulled his gaze away from the books and back to Merlin. “Well…”

Merlin scratched the back of his neck and looked at his feet. “Well, thanks for coming to get me. And not, you know, freaking out about…” he wiggled his fingers. “ _That_.”

Arthur batted away a cold shiver as he remembered his father’s words from the night before. There was no way on this earth that Merlin was a danger to anyone or anything but himself (and possible Arthur’s sanity). He cleared his throat. “That’s quite alright.” He grinned slightly. “I trust I can reply on a bit more support from  _The Chronicle_  after rescuing their most brilliant journalist.”

Merlin beamed as widely as he could. “You think I’m brilliant?”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he willed his face not to flush. “That’s really not the point.”

“You think I’m brilliant!”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, but he didn’t really mean it.

“Yes, Mr Prime Minister,” Merlin replied, still laughing slightly. “But can you please go away so I can get some sleep?”

“Gladly,” Arthur replied, and maybe he didn’t really mean that either.

* * *

 

 

 

 

**IV:**  To comfort, honour, and protect

“Have you even slept?”

Arthur didn’t wait for Merlin to reply; he pushed past him into the house, shaking snowflakes from his coat as he did so. 

“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked, as he closed the door against the steadily falling snow and frowned at his unexpected guest.

“I came to make sure you hadn’t tripped down the stairs and killed yourself,” Arthur replied as he tugged off his gloves. “Or electrocuted yourself with the toaster, or any other ridiculous scenario you could manage. You’ve been on your own for six hours; it wouldn’t be inconceivable to think you’d done something stupid.”

Merlin looked dumbstruck. “Um…”

Truth be told Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing there; but as that seemed to be how he generally felt whenever he was anywhere near Merlin he figured he could just ignore any uncertainty and plough on regardless. 

“Honestly, Merlin,” Arthur shook his head. He pointed at the nest of pillows and blankets that Merlin had obviously retreated to after Arthur had left him that morning. “Why aren’t you in bed?” Arthur frowned. “You do have a bed, don’t you? This isn’t some weird hippy commune or something is it?”

Merlin snorted. “Don’t be stupid. I couldn’t get comfortable. Have you ever tried sleeping with a plaster cast on?”

“No,” Arthur admitted as Merlin shuffled back under his blankets, “but I’m fairly certain you won’t sleep if you continue watching-“ he squinted at the television -“the top one-hundred Christmas songs of all time.” He scrunched up his face at Merlin. “Really, Merlin? A music video countdown? I thought you were supposed to be the high-brow literary type.”

“I am,” Merlin replied, cheerfully unmuting the television, “but I’m currently the high-brow literary type on painkillers whose view of Wizzard is being blocked by an obnoxious prat.”

Arthur rolled his eyes…and oh God, when had their arguing turned into this weird, almost-fond banter? He coughed. “Well, anyway, I only came around because Gwen and Lance have far too much to do to be playing nursemaid to you, and I didn’t trust you to be able to fend for yourself in such a state.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said pleasantly, “fuck off.”

Arthur frowned. “Fine. I’ll just take this with me then.”

Merlin craned his neck to look at the Waitrose carrier bag Arthur picked up from by his feet. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Arthur replied. “I’ll let myself out.”

“Arthur.” It was practically a whine.

“Well,” Arthur said as he leaned against the front door. “It was a bag full of ingredients for a curry, and there might even be a box of mince pies in there considering this place is about as festive as a…”he trailed off and waved his hand “…something terribly unfestive!”

Merlin’s expression could only be described as ‘cow-eyed’. “What? You brought me dinner?”

“Yes, Merlin, I did,” Arthur replied. “And now I’m taking it back again.”

“No, stay.” Merlin said, and he suddenly looked terribly serious.

Arthur gave a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, fine. But only because  _I’m_  hungry and the traffic’s terrible.”

The sounds of the next Christmas song on the countdown filled the room for a long moment.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked eventually. “Why exactly are you here?”

Arthur studied the carpet for a few seconds. “Still not very sure about that, Merlin.”

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

It had been a week since Arthur had spoken with his father about magic, and Arthur had started to think he’d imagined the whole thing. Merlin hadn’t mentioned anything, nor had Arthur seen any further displays of wizardry in the two (fine,  _five_ ) visits he’d made to Merlin’s house.

He was so convinced that he’d dreamt it, he was more than a little surprised when his father called him to ask if Arthur had made any progress on tracking down the sorcerer. 

“No, father,” Arthur replied immediately. “Are you sure your sources were correct? I was there and didn’t notice anything.”

“Hmm,” was all Uther said for quite some time. “I have my best men on the case. I’m sure they’ll track the magic user down eventually.”

Arthur really,  _really_ hoped his father was wrong.

“I assume you’re attending the ambassador’s ball on Christmas Eve?” Uther asked. “It’s the perfect opportunity for you to mix with some other people your age. People with the requisite backgrounds, of course.”

Arthur bit back the sigh he wanted to let out. “Yes, father.”

"As I can't be there, I expect you to behave in a manner befitting your station,  _and_ the Pendragon name. Your sister had already informed me that she will not be in attendance this year.” Uther sounded more displeased than usual. “How she ever expects to find a suitable husband I do not know.”

“I’m sure Morgana will pursue a husband when she feels the time is right,” Arthur replied diplomatically. He didn’t mention that his sister had only yesterday making advances towards Leon.

“Hmm,” said Uther, and thankfully that was the end of that.

 

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

“A  _ball_?” Merlin laughed, his face having healed enough to allow him to mock Arthur properly. “You’re actually going to a ball! Tonight!”

“Yes,” Arthur grumbled, “and I’m beginning to wonder why the hell I told you about it at all. Why are you  _still_  laughing at me?”

“Because that’s what friends do!” Merlin huffed out a laugh, before he caught himself and fell silent. 

“Friends?” Arthur asked quietly. 

“I thought so,” Merlin replied eventually. 

Arthur looked at Melin, and Merlin stared right back from where he sat next to him on the small sofa. The bruises were healing, but Merlin still looked a bit of a state; and yet Arthur found he, once more, couldn’t look away from those blue eyes that had confounded him since day one.

Merlin licked his lips slightly and Arthur found his eyes drawn involuntarily to that movement, Jesus, when had his heart started hammering like that? This was  _not_  how Arthur behaved; he was aloof, disinterested and steadfast in his resolve to remain unattached, for Christ’s sake.

It was Merlin who leaned forward ever so slightly, carefully watching Arthur’s reaction. Arthur, barely daring to breathe, didn’t move away and a second later he felt warm breath ghost over his lips.

So of course that’s when the doorbell rang, because Arthur’s life had apparently descended into a predictable romantic comedy. Oh bloody hell…did this make him Hugh Grant now?

“Fuck,” Merlin hissed as he dropped his head to his chest.

“I’ll get that!” Arthur announced in a voice caught somewhere between irritated and overly-cheerful. “It’s probably Gwen and Lance with the tree.”

“Tree?” Merlin asked, a vague look of horror crossing his face.

Arthur didn’t answer, and opened the door instead.

Sure enough there stood Lance, Gwen and a five-foot Christmas tree.

“Oh good. you’re here!” Arthur’s voice was much higher in pitch than it should have been. “Have fun. I’m off. Bye!”

At that, he barged past his surprised friends, practically sprinted to the car and didn’t breathe again until Geoffrey had turned out of the street.

Arthur knew he was completely fucked.

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

Only a few hours later, Arthur was inspecting a large ornamental tree in the ambassador's residence. He was decidedly  _not_  hiding, lurking, or otherwise pretending that he didn't exist. He was simply enjoying being alone.

And then  _Morgana_  daintily nipped in behind the tree to join him.

“What are  _you_ doing here?” Arthur asked his sister in horror as she shook her head pityingly at him.

“Looking for you,” Morgana replied. “What are  _you_ doing here? Shouldn’t you be caring for that gorgeous boy you seem so attached to?”

Arthur ignored  _that_  comment. “Father said you weren’t coming tonight..”

“Yes,” Morgana sighed dramatically, “and I wasn’t going to. But then Gwen called me this afternoon and informed me that you were having some kind of breakdown and intervention was required.”

“What?” Arthur screeched, and got a mouth full of plant for his pains. “I am  _not_  having a breakdown.”

“Apparently you ran away from Merlin’s house as though you - and I quote - ‘had the hounds of hell’ on your heels,” Morgana answered. “She also said that Merlin looked like someone had kicked his puppy after you left.”

Arthur stared.

“So tell me what’s going on,” Morgana dropped her voice dangerously as yet another Viennese waltz started up in the background, “or I’ll start jumping to my own conclusions and you won’t be able to stop the trail of gossip I’m going to  _so_ enjoy starting in a moment.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Arthur replied.

“Oh look!” Morgana announced cheerfully, “There’s the Baroness De Laine and her big mouth. One whisper in her ear and whatever I say will be front page news in no time.”

Arthur couldn’t tell whether or not Morgana was bluffing, but he didn’t dare test her. “Okay, fine. I ran away.”

“You did?” Morgana sounded positively gleeful. “Why? What happened? Have you finally worked out that you’ve been flirting since you met?”

“Flirting?” Arthur asked in outrage. “We haven’t been flirting. We’ve been  _arguing_.”

Morgana arched her eyebrows. “With you two that’s the same thing. What happened?”

“Nothing.” Arthur replied.

“ _Arthur_.”

“Nothing!” Arthur repeated. “And that’s the bloody problem.”

“Why the hell are you here then?” Morgana looked at her brother as though he’d completely lost the plot.

“Because I’m the Prime Minister!” Arthur huffed. “And because I-“

“Arthur,” Morgana said in a tone that suggested that her patience was wearing dangerously thin, “there’s been free-flowing champagne since the minute we walked in, and I’m fairly certain Lord Darton has replaced the water in those bottles over there with some fairly potent vodka; trust me when I say nobody will notice if you leave.”

“And do what?” Arthur asked. 

Morgana smiled. “Go and tell Merlin you’re a clueless idiot who’s finally had a moment of clarity.”

“I can’t,” Arthur sighed.

“Why not?” Morgana held up her hand. “And if you say  _because I’m the Prime Minister_  I’ll bloody slap you.”

 

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

As he was driven back across London Arthur had the unfortunate realisation that he he didn’t know what he was going to do when he got to Fulham.

His phone beeped and he took it out of his pocket, mildly hoping it would be some urgent Prime Minister-y business he’d have to deal with immediately. He groaned when he noted it was unlikely that Gwen would be texting about affairs of state.

**From: Gwen  
24th December 2013 20:16**

_I think it’s brilliant! It’s like Love Actually. You’re Hugh Grant! xxx_

Arthur momentarily considered asking Geoffrey to take a left straight off Chelsea Embankment; at least if he sank to the bottom of the Thames the papers would be more concerned with the demise of their Prime Minister than focusing on just why said PM wasn’t where he was supposed to be on Christmas Eve.

His phone beeped again.

**From: Gwen  
24th December 2013 20:17**

_Not that I think Merlin’s whatsherface who was in Eastenders! Just to be clear! xxx_

Arthur turned his phone off. He was going to forgive Gwen for these texts - he fully intended to blame them on pregnancy hormones.

“Arthur?” Leon asked.

Since Morgana had begun batting her eyelashes at Leon he’d started to lose a bit of the uptight professionalism that had made him so good at his job. Arthur didn’t mind - he was sick of being called ‘Sir’ anyway.

“I’m sure you’ve fully considered your actions,” Leon added.

Arthur almost laughed, but he let Leon continue.

“And,” Leon turned to face him, “I just wanted to say that I think you’re making a good decision.” He frowned slightly. “ _Sir._ ”

“Relax, Leon,” Arthur replied. “And we can forget the ‘Sirs’”

Leon nodded. “Are you going to be handling this publicly?” He was back in Chief of Staff mode now and Arthur knew the phone calls would begin as soon as Arthur gave the word.

Arthur looked out of the window, watching the Christmas lights reflecting in the river. “Why don’t we just wait and see what happens first?” He tried to keep his voice light, but hesitation was creeping back in. Here he was with a half-baked plan (and that was being generous) and not sure what it was he exactly  _wanted_  to say to Merlin.

“We’ll be there shortly, Sir,” Geoffrey said as he pulled off the Embankment and Arthur lost sight of the river.

“Oh bloody hell,” Arthur sniffed, “just call me Arthur, Geoffrey. I’ve known you since I was four.”

“As you wish, Sir,” Geoffrey replied blithely. “And can I just add, this is all rather exciting. It’s not often I’ve been involved in romantic dashes across the city.”

Arthur felt his face flame. “This is  _not_  a romantic dash!” He slumped back in his seat. “I’m just going to have a perfectly reasonable and grown-up conversation with another grown-up - actually, that’s going a bit far - with another  _person._ We are  _not_  dashing, and I have no intention of being romantic.”

“Everything’s more romantic at Christmas,” Geoffrey replied, completely ignoring Arthur’s protests. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Arthur shut up after that and glared at the passing houses ignoring the fact that his git of a Chief of Staff was trying not to laugh. He was almost tempted to ask Geoffrey to turn the car around, but Arthur had never backed away from anything in his life; he wasn’t about to start now.

“Here we are!” Geoffrey announced cheerfully as the car pulled up outside the ‘house’ Merlin lived in.

“Right.” Arthur steeled himself and made to open the car door.

“I hope it’s not like in that film,” Geoffrey added, turning to face Arthur, “you know that one at Christmas with that Hugh Grant in it. He’s the Prime Minister too.”

“I’m not bloody Hugh Grant!’ Arthur practically shrieked. 

“I’m perfectly aware of that, Sir,” Geoffrey replied calmly. “I was just thinking it might be rather awkward if Mr Emrys isn’t in, or if you have to meet his whole family.”

Arthur bolted from the car, leaving the door open behind him. If he didn’t run up that front path now he wasn’t going to do it all.

He knocked on the door and jumped up and down on the spot; it was  _freezing_ and he’d left his scarf somewhere at the ambassador’s residence.

He knocked again and still there was no answer. He frowned and looked up at the house with the dawning realisation that there were no lights on. 

Arthur threw his hands up at the sky. “Seriously?”

“Arthur?”

Arthur whirled around and just for one tiny moment he’d been convinced the universe was going to give him a break and that it would be Merlin standing on the pavement behind him. 

It wasn’t. It was Leon.

“He’s not here!” Arthur told his Chief of Staff, and if he sounded slightly hysterical there wasn’t really anyone around to judge him. 

“Yes…” Leon nodded slowly. “That’s because he’s apparently trying to charm his way into the ambassador’s ball without an invitation as we speak.”

Arthur blinked a few times. “Pardon?”

Leon pointed towards the car. “Sir -  _Arthur_   _-_ if we could perhaps discuss this on the way back to Belgravia it would be best for all involved.”

Arthur didn’t need telling twice. If Merlin was causing trouble at the ball he could be certain Uther would hear about it; and Arthur had no intention of his father and Merlin being in the vicinity of each other any time soon.

Geoffrey was positively beaming when Arthur got back in the car. “Off we go again, Sir! My, this  _is_  an adventure.”

Arthur wished he had a gag.

 

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

“Oh Christ!” Arthur muttered as they pulled outside the embassy. There appeared to be a small crowd congregated on the pavement directly outside the main entrance; and of course Merlin was right in the middle. At least Arthur assumed it was Merlin - the top of the ridiculously blue ridiculous bobble hat strongly suggested it was him.

“Ah.” Leon said as he opened the door. “This might be a bit more awkward than we thought.”

“Wh-“ was all Arthur managed before the crowd parted slightly and Arthur saw Merlin standing between Morgana and Uther. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why’s  _my father_  here?” He clambered out of the car, tangling himself in the seatbelt in his haste to escape.

Arthur caused such a commotion getting out of the car the attention was taken away from Merlin for just a second. He watched as Uther’s eyes narrowed into something approaching cold calculation.

The former Prime Minister stared down the current one. 

“Father.” Arthur nodded in a show of reverence that was actually a mask for the fear he felt. Uther with  _that_  look on his face was never a version of his father that Arthur wanted to deal with.

“Arthur,” Uther replied coldly, “imagine my surprise when I arrived here tonight to be told that you’d already left.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Imagine now, if you will, my even greater surprise when you suddenly appear again. Would you care to explain what is going on?”

“I was looking for Merlin,” Arthur replied. He gave himself a mental slap - well done, Arthur, right now is the  _perfect_  moment to start telling your father the truth.

“ _This_  Merlin?” Uther’s eyes momentarily drifted to the behatted Merlin, who in turn was doing his utmost to avoid everyone’s eyes.

“The very one,” Arthur replied tightly. He would rather this conversation never happened, but if it  _had_ to occur he’d be far more pleased if they didn’t have an audience of dignitaries, security guards and passersby. 

“And why was that, Arthur?” Uther asked.

“Because I invited him to the ball,” Arthur replied.  _Hah!_ his brain cheered, until it realised it needed to embellish the story further. “And the idiot clearly forgot he was supposed to be here hours ago.” 

Merlin looked at him sharply.

“ _And_ ,” Arthur threw a jovial arm around Merlin’s shoulder, ignoring the flinch, “you’ll obviously have to excuse the state of him. He had the rather unfortunate experience of being mugged last week.”

 _The rather unfortunate experience….?!?!_ Arthur wanted to kick himself. But it seemed he was now on a roll, and couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “I’m sure he would have worn a dinner suit if he’d been able to.”

“And  _who_  are you exactly?” Uther asked, turning his attention to Merlin.

Arthur floundered. How exactly was he supposed to explain who Merlin was to his father in a way that wouldn’t end up with one of them receiving Uther’s special death glare (Arthur could tell his father was working up to it).  _He’s a sorcerer!_ his mind hissed, and he didn’t dare open his mouth just in case he actually said it.

“Merlin’s the Political Editor at  _The Chronicle_ ,” Morgana supplied, giving Arthur a look that suggested she thought he was a complete idiot. “The youngest ever. Arthur thought it might be a good idea to improve relations between his office and the paper.”

Uther’s face changed instantly. “You’re Ambrose Emerson?”

Merlin gulped so violently Arthur felt it. “Yes, Sir.”

“Of course you are!” Uther was now smiling in a sharklike manner. “Well of course you should be here this evening. Do come in.” He gestured for Merlin to follow him inside. “You can tell me all about how you pinpoint the weaknesses in my son’s strategies; it would be useful if Arthur could do that himself, of course, but that seems unlikely to happen.”

Arthur wasn’t sure whether it would be better for him to throw a tantrum or just run away from what was fast becoming the most embarrassing moment of his life. Or simply grab Merlin and disappear with him before Uther discovered that Merlin wasn't just a journalist.

Merlin looked quickly at Arthur before slipping from his grasp. “Of course, Sir.” He shot Morgana a silent plea for help before following an immediately chatty Uther up the steps. 

Uther paused at the top and turned back to his son. “Arthur, we’ll discuss this little…  _performance_  over lunch tomorrow.”

Suddenly Arthur was five again, being shouted at for disturbing a pile of letters on Uther’s desk. Well, there went any hope of a nice Christmas Day. He glanced at the floor. “Of course, father.”

Morgana waited until Uther and Merlin had disappeared inside before she looped her arm through her brother’s. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go back inside and make fun of people from afar. I think your grand gesture might have to wait.”

“I hate my life,” Arthur mumbled as he allowed himself to be tugged inside.

“I know,” Morgana said, patting his arm consolingly.

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

Arthur had traversed the ballroom twice and there was  _still_  no sign of Merlin. He’d seen his father leave twenty minutes previously so Merlin had clearly been released back into the wild; the only problem was Arthur had no idea where he might be.

“Give up?” Leon asked, coming over to stand next to Arthur. 

“I give up.” Arthur conceded. “Time to go.”

“He must have left without us realising,” Leon said as he headed towards the exit for the second time that evening.

Arthur’s phone rang just as they stepped outside into the night air once more.  _Merlin_.

“Where the hell are you?” Arthur snapped as soon as he answered.

“Well hello to you too,” Merlin drawled. “God, you  _are_  a prat, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Arthur replied. Then back-pedalled. “I mean,  _no. Oh,_ shut up!”

“Not saying a word.”

“I can hear you  _thinking_ ,” Arthur replied. “And that’s just as annoying as you speaking.”

“Charming.”

Arthur nearly tripped over as he turned towards the voice behind him.

“Hello, Merlin!” Leon grinned cheerfully, giving Arthur a look of triumph.

Arthur wasn’t feeling quite so triumphant. “Had a nice chat with my father did you?”

“Hi, Leon.” Merlin  then rolled his eyes at Arthur. “Are you going to continue acting like a child or can I talk to you?”

“Hello, Mr Emrys!”

_Great, now Geoffrey was joining in._

“Might I suggest we move this conversation into the car,” Leon said, blowing air into his hands, “where it’s a bit warmer.”

Merlin, without waiting for Arthur’s permission (because, why would he?) grinned at Leon and hopped into the backseat. On Arthur’s usual side.

As Arthur  walked around to the other side of the car he decided that he must have had a moment of madness earlier. There was no way he found Merlin Emrys anything but annoying and extremely challenging.  _What had he been thinking?_

 _“_ You look like you’re having a bit of a crisis over there, Arthur,” Merlin grinned.

Arthur ignored him and Geoffrey started the engine.

“Oh, come on. Cheer up, it’s Christmas Eve.” Merlin’s smile didn’t falter as he reached over with his left hand and tangled his fingers with Arthur’s.

Arthur stared dumbly down at their joined hands. He was worried his brain might actually short-circuit if he thought too much about what exactly was happening.

“Oh.” Merlin said softly after a long minute, releasing Arthur’s hand. “Sorry…fuck I’m an idiot…I thought…um…”

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and grabbed Merlin’s uninjured hand with his own. “It’s amazing that  _anyone_  thought you were worthy of a Pulitzer when you can’t even string a sentence together.”

Merlin stared at him for a long moment before he ducked his head slightly, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Where to?” Geoffrey asked.

“Home,” Arthur replied immediately. 

“But-“ Merlin started.

“Alice will have made mince pies,” Arthur replied, looking out of the window but keeping his  fingers tight around Merlin’s. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had one.”

“Very true,” Leon added from the front.

“Excellent woman,” Geoffrey added. 

For the first time that night Arthur didn’t mind that his evening had all got a little ridiculous. In fact, he thought as he looked quickly at where Merlin was smiling to himself, he was actually rather enjoying it.

 

 

 

  **oOo**

“This is weird,” Merlin said for the eighth or ninth time since he’d followed Arthur into Number Ten.

Arthur rolled his eyes again. “You know, it doesn’t really make sense for the Political Editor of the country’s foremost newspaper to be in awe of the Prime Minister’s residence. You should be used to this place.”

“Well I’m not,” Merlin replied, looking up at the spiral staircase again. “And that’s your fault. Do you know how many times my office has tried to get an appointment with you here?”

Arthur  _did_  know exactly how many times Merlin’s office had called, because he’d made sure Leon rebuffed every single request for a meeting.

“Apparently you’re just too busy.” Merlin made quotation marks in the air. “Though I think it might be more to do with you avoiding me.”

Arthur gestured for Merlin to follow him into the drawing room. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I avoid you? You’ve always been perfectly pleasant to deal with, and you’ve been nothing but complimentary in your articles.”

Merlin grinned as he slouched into onto the sofa, pulling off that ridiculous hat with his left hand. “And yet here we are.” His grin turned into something far more coy as Arthur sat next to him.

“Um…” Arthur said intelligently.

Merlin laughed softly. “Why did you come to my house earlier?”

Arthur frowned. “How do you know I came to your house?”

Merlin shrugged. “Morgana told me just before your father came out of nowhere and accosted me. He’s bloody terrifying, you know.”

 _You don’t know the half of it,_ Arthur wanted to say, but he held his tongue on that matter. Instead he said, “I didn’t really have a plan.” He tugged on his earlobe in embarrassment. “What were  _you_  doing in Belgravia?”

Merlin chuckled. “Also somewhat lacking a plan.” He smiled at Arthur. “So you don’t actually hate me?”

Arthur twisted his mouth. “The jury’s still out on that one, I’m afraid.”

“Shut up.” Merlin rolled his eyes and leaned back into the sofa cushions. “You know, you’re not actually as annoying as I thought you were.”

“Wow.” Arthur arched one eyebrow. “That’s high praise indeed coming from you.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “When I first met you, I just  _knew_ you’d make my life difficult. You were all self-assured and uppity about everything.”

“You really need to work on your compliment giving,  _Mer_ lin. “ Arthur folded his arms. “

Merlin waved his left hand towards Arthur, but kept his eyes closed. “You get enough compliments from everyone else.” He grinned slightly. “I did actually  _want_  you to take over from your father, you know.”

Arthur was genuinely surprised. “You did?”

Merlin nodded.

“You said it would be a disgrace to politics for yet another Pendragon to run the country.” Arthur prodded Merlin’s good arm. “That I’d be a terrible choice.”

Merlin cracked open one eye. “Yes, but only because I had to say something when facing down an attractive man who knows how to argue back.”

Arthur blinked at him. “Did you just say something  _nice_ about me?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Merlin replied, closing his eyes again. “Very occasionally.”

Silence descended on the drawing room for a long moment, but it was comfortable.

“Are you  _really_  a sorcerer?” Arthur asked eventually.

“It sounds much more dramatic when  _you_  say it.” Merlin snuggled further into the cushions. “It’s not really a big deal, Arthur. It’s temperamental and tricky, and I avoid using it whenever I can.”

“Show me.” Arthur was surprised by the lack of hesitation in his voice.

Merlin’s eyes flew open. “You’re serious?”

Arthur nodded.

“Alright.” Merlin held out his hand towards the Christmas tree on the other side of the room. He muttered something under his breath and the fairy lights that had been switched off, burst into life, making the tree glow.

Arthur stared in wonder. “That’s impossible.”

The lights flared even more brightly for a second before a loud pop signalled every light in the room going out and plunging the pair into darkness.

_“Merlin!”_

_“_ Oops.” Merlin replied sheepishly.

Arthur was about to reply when an orb of light flickered into being between them. He gaped when he realised the ball of light was hovering above Merlin’s palm, casting an unearthly blue glow around them. He hesitantly reached out a hand to hover over the light, feeling something almost like static sparking under his fingers.

Merlin moved his hand but the orb remained in place. “See, I sort of fixed it.”

“Hmm.” Arthur lifted his hand away from the light, moving his fingers to rest lightly on the back of Merlin’s neck. 

Merlin seemed to emit an ethereal light, his eyes sparking with a trace of gold as he leaned forwards in a repeat of how he’d done so earlier that day. “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” Arthur didn’t move.

Merlin didn’t reply verbally. Instead he closed the final few centimetres between them and pressed his lips softly against Arthur’s.

Arthur just about had presence of mind to close his eyes and kiss back when his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled back slightly, but Merlin - quick as lightning - raised his good hand to Arthur’s chin and pulled him back in for another kiss, nipping his lower lip slightly as he did so.

“Merlin,” Arthur mumbled against his lips. “Merlin, I have to get that.”

Merlin made an unhappy little sound but released Arthur enough that he could retrieve his phone and check the caller ID just as the phone stopped ringing.”

“It’s Lance," Arthur replied.

“Call him back later,” Merlin advised, smiling slightly in the dim light.

Arthur was about to agree wholeheartedly with that plan when there was a knock at the door.

Merlin flopped back onto the sofa with a sigh of resignation as Arthur called out a harassed “Yes?”

“It’s me,” Leon replied. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, fine,” Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair as the ball of light winked out of existence. 

The door opened and Leon entered, not that Arthur could really see him.

“The back up generator should kick in in a minute,” Leon said. “But Arthur I’ve just had your sister on the phone.”

“And?” Arthur asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

“It’s Gwen,” Leon replied.

“What about her?” Arthur and Merlin asked in stereo. 

“She’s fine!” Leon added. “Well, she’s in labour actually.”

“What?” Arthur threw himself off the sofa so quickly he whacked his shin on the coffee table. “Ow, bloody fuck, that hurt!”

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Leon asked, slight panic evident in his tone.

“Fine,” Arthur replied.

Merlin sniggered behind him.

“I assume you want to go to the hospital,” Leon said.

“You assume correctly,” Arthur replied.

“Geoffrey will have the car ready in a moment. I should warn you, he’s quite excited about this.”

“Of course he is,” Arthur rolled his eyes. He vaguely remembered a time when Geoffrey had been nothing more than a staid professional.

“I’ll see you outside,” Leon replied, and left Merlin and Arthur alone again.

“Well,” Arthur said, waving his hand around in the dark until he managed to catch hold of Merlin’s fingers and pull him carefully to his feet, “are you ready to be a Godfather?”

Merlin ignored the question and pulled Arthur down for another kiss instead. 

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

“Don’t give her to him.” Arthur grumbled as Lance handed the tiny bundle of pink to an awestruck Merlin.

“Shush, Arthur,” Gwen admonished him gently from where she lay propped up in bed. “You’ll get your turn.”

“He’s only got the use of one hand!” Arthur hissed.

“He’s sitting down,” Gwen replied with a grin, “ _and_  Lance is holding her too.”

“Stop being a jealous fuckwit,” Morgana rolled her eyes at her brother. “She’s just as much Merlin’s Goddaughter as yours. And mine for that matter.”

“Hmm.” Arthur glared at his sibling. The fact that Morgana was to be Godmother had been news to him  _and_  Merlin, but Morgana and Gwen had laughed long and loud about how long they’d kept that secret.

But then the nurse had returned to the room carrying her precious cargo and all three visitors had shut up instantly as they took in their first look at Gwen and Lance’s baby daughter.

“She’s perfect.” Merlin’s hushed voice caught Arthur’s attention and he looked over just in time to catch the soft look on Merlin’s face as he stared down at the sleeping baby. 

Arthur tried very hard not to be impatient, but it must have been written all over his face as the next thing Merlin said was. “Lance, I think you should let Arthur hold her for a while, otherwise you might be dealing with your first temper tantrum earlier than anticipated.”

Arthur glared at his…well,  _Merlin_  for a long moment, but his annoyance melted away as Lance carefully held out his daughter for Arthur to hold.

He’d never been so terrified in his life as Lance moved away and left Arthur as the only obstacle between the tiny little girl and the millions of dangers around her. He’d never been one to get excited by babies, but as he stood there in Gwen’s hospital room, with the warm weight of life in his hands and the glow of Christmas lights around him he realised that maybe he’d been missing the point all these years; it wasn’t that it was a  _baby_ , it was that they’d all just gained a new family member. 

“Be careful of her head.” Morgana hissed unhelpfully, breaking Arthur’s little bubble of peace.

“Yes, thank you, Morgana,” Arthur replied snottily. He would have added to that if the baby hadn’t taken that moment to open her eyes and blink slowly up at him. Even though he  _knew_  she was too young to see him; to understand what she was looking at, Arthur felt as though she was staring right at him. He loved her immediately and without hesitation.

“My turn!” Morgana announced, and Arthur had no time to protest before Morgana employed her witchy woman ways and carefully scooped the baby into her own arms without disturbing the child at all. 

Merlin gestured for Arthur to follow him and they slipped quietly out into the hallway.

“What?” Arthur asked as Merlin fixed him with a calculating gaze.

“Merry Christmas.” Merlin looked around, and sensing the coast was clear enough, put his arms around Arthur and pulled him close.

“I have no idea what I’m doing with you,” Arthur said softly into Merlin’s hair as he tightened his grip. “What this is.”

“Neither do I,” Merlin replied, “but I don’t think it will ever be dull.”

Arthur laughed quietly as Christmas dawned around them.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
** Epilogue:  ** _Until death do us part?_

Excerpt from _The Chronicle_ online _,_ December 21st 2014

_As Arthur Pendragon continues to prove his worth following his party's landslide victory in May, this week he has  been making the headlines for more than just his policies. The PM’s office released an official statement earlier today to confirm, after week’s of speculation, that_ The Chronicle's  _Political Editor, Ambrose Emerson, has indeed taken up residence at Number 10._

_Mr Emerson (real name Merlin Emrys), and Mr Pendragon announced their fledgling relationship at last year’s Hogmanay celebrations in Edinburgh when they arrived together for a formal engagement. Since then Emerson has continued to question and analyse the Prime Minister’s political decisions as he always has done; a trend, he is keen to point out, that is likely to continue until Mr Pendragon retires from politics. Mr Pendragon is equally keen to point out that he will not be retiring any time soon._

_The couple made the headlines earlier this year when they were named as Godfathers to Lady Eve Grace Du Lac - the first child of Lady Guinevere Grace and her husband Lancelot du Lac. Mr Pendragon’s sister Morgana, and their father, former Prime Minister Lord Uther Pendragon, were also in attendance at the Christening, held at the Grace family home in Cheshire._

_In the statement released to the public today Mr Pendragon and Mr Emrys thank the country for their support over the past year._ The Chronicle ’s  _Mithian Lively also reported that Lord Uther has been supportive of the match, and that reports of a rift between the current and former Prime Ministers is nothing more than rumour; and, in fact, Mr Emrys would be attending the Pendragon family's Christmas celebrations this year._

_The couple also stated that, despite comments made by close friends in recent weeks, they have no immediate plans to marry._

_A very reliable source would beg to differ._

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

Merlin looked up from the copy of the article Arthur had just handed him. "I hate your sister."

Arthur laughed, tipping his head back and draping an arm around Merlin's shoulders as he sat down next to him. "She's not wrong though, is she?"

Merlin's gaze dropped to the platinum band on his left hand: The band he wasn't  _really_  supposed to be wearing just yet. "No, but she's going to kill us when she finds out that we've planned it all without her."

Arthur shrugged with a smile. "The second the notice goes on display at the Registry Office tomorrow we're fucked anyway. She'll probably withold our Christmas presents."

It was Merlin's turn to laugh loudly. He grinned as he reached out a finger and prodded the matching ring on Arthur's hand. "Come on, we need to put these away. If you forget to take it off before trying to go outside again Leon'll have another fit!"

"But I like it." Arthur had only been mildly horrified to discover that that had been the truth. There'd been a lot of moments like that this year.

Merlin shook his head in mock pity, but there was a pink stain creeping up his cheeks anyway. "This is a bit mad, isn't it?" He tugged off his ring and held it up to the light.

Arthur plucked the band from Merlin's hand and put it back on his finger. "We're good at a bit mad though, aren't we?"

Merlin's blinding smile was the only answer Arthur needed.

 

 

 

 

**oOo**

Morgana's tantrum lasted a good three hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_~The End~_

 


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